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THE COMPLETE WRITINGS OF
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

WITH PORTRAITS, ILLUSTRATIONS, AND FACSIMILES
IN TWENTY-TWO VOLUMES
VOLUME II

?

PS

•* Villain^ unmuffie yourself! ' '

THjE l>YRITnTGS OF

M -^•

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g^^-.

HOUGHTON, MIFFT.IN AND COMPAWY

TWICE-TOLD TALES

BY
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

IN TWO VOLUMES
VOLUME II

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COe
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

^ APR15196S

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LEGENDS OF THE PROVINCE HOUSE
I. HOWE's MASQUERADE

II. EDWARD Randolph's portrait

III. lady ELEANORE'S MANTLE

IV. OLD ESTHER DUDLEY
THE HAUNTED MIND

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

THE SISTER YEARS

SNOWFLAKES ....

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

THE WHITE OLD MAID .

PETER GOLDTHWAITE's TREASURE

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

THE SHAKER BRIDAL .

NIGHT SKETCHES ....

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

THE lily's QUEST ....

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEASHORE

EDWARD fane's ROSEBUD

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

I >

26 )
. 46

73 '

. 93

loi

. 121

136

. 148

157

. 186

204.

. 238

256
. 266

276
. 288 .

300
. 317

3*9

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIDNS

PAGE

"Villain, unmuffle yourself!" (page 21)

Emlen M'Connell

Frontispiece
Vignette on Engraved Title-page. The

Balcony (page 2) . . Emlen M^Connell
" One sip of this holy wine "

Ellen B. Thompson 58
Into the pathway of destruction

Walter H, Everett 134
" Old Peter Goldthwaite's hoard of old

RAGS "... Frank E. Schoonover 236

EnDICOTT ... RENT THE Red CrOSS COM-
PLETELY OUT OF THE BANNER

Emlen M" Connell 286

TWICE-TOLD TALES

II

LEGENDS OF THE PROVINCE
HOUSE

I

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

[Hawthorne records in his note-book under date of 1 840 :
«* A phantom of the old royal governors, or some such shad-
owy pageant, on the night of the evacuation of Boston by the
British." Yet the tale was published in 1838.]

ONE afternoon last summer, while walk-
ing along Washington Street, my eye
was attracted by a sign-board protrud-
ing over a narrow archway, nearly opposite the
Old South Church. The sign represented the
front of a stately edifice, which was designated as
the " Old Province House, kept by Thomas
Waite.'* I was glad to be thus reminded of a
purpose, long entertained, of visiting and ram-
bling over the mansion of the old royal govern-
ors of Massachusetts ; and entering the arched

I

TWICE-TOLD TALES

passage, which penetrated through the middle
of a brick row of shops, a few steps transported
me from the busy heart of modern Boston into
a small and secluded court-yard. One side of
this space was occupied by the square front of
the Province House, three stories high, and
surmounted by a cupola, on the top of which a
gilded Indian was discernible, with his bow bent
and his arrow on the string, as if aiming at the
weathercock on the spire of the Old South.
The figure has kept this attitude for seventy
years or more, ever since good Deacon Drowne,
a cunning carver of wood, first stationed him
on his long sentineFs watch over the city.

The Province House is constructed of brick,
which seems recently to have been overlaid with
a coat of light-colored paint. A flight of red
freestone steps, fenced in by a balustrade of
curiously wrought iron, ascends from the court-
yard to the spacious porch, over which is a bal-
cony, with an iron balustrade of similar pattern
and workmanship to that beneath. These let-
ters and figures — i6 P. S. 79 — are wrought
into the iron-work of the balcony, and probably
express the date of the edifice, with the initials
of its founder's name. A wide door with
double leaves admitted me into the hall or
entry, on the right of which is the entrance to
the bar-room.

It was in this apartment, I presume, that the
2

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

ancient governors held their levees, with vice-
regal pomp, surrounded by the military men,
the councillors, the judges, and other officers of
the crown, while all the loyalty of the province
thronged to do them honor. But the room, in
its present condition, cannot boast even of faded
magnificence. The panelled wainscot is cov-
ered with dingy paint, and acquires a duskier
hue from the deep shadow into which the Pro-
vince House is thrown by the brick block that
shuts it in from Washington Street. A ray of
sunshine never visits this apartment any more
than the glare of the festal torches, which have
been extinguished from the era of the Revolu-
tion. The most venerable and ornamental ob-
ject is a chimney-piece set round with Dutch
tiles of blue-figured china, representing scenes
from Scripture ; and, for aught I know, the
lady of Pownall or Bernard may have sat beside
this fireplace, and told her children the story
of each blue tile. A bar in modern style, well
replenished with decanters, bottles, cigar boxes,
and net-work bags of lemons, and provided
with a beer pump and a soda fount, extends
along one side of the room. At my entrance,
an elderly person was smacking his lips with a
zest which satisfied me that the cellars of the
Province House still hold good liquor, though
doubtless of other vintages than were quaffed
by the old governors. After sipping a glass of

3

TWICE-TOLD TALES

port sangaree, prepared by the skilful hands
of Mr. Thomas Waite, 1 besought that worthy-
successor and representative of so many historic
personages to conduct me over their time-hon-
ored mansion.

He readily complied ; but, to confess the
truth, I was forced to draw strenuously upon
my imagination, in order to find aught that was
interesting in a house which, without its historic
associations, would have seemed merely such a
tavern as is usually favored by the custom of
decent city boarders, and old-fashioned country
gentlemen. The chambers, which were prob-
ably spacious in former times, are now cut up
by partitions, and subdivided into little nooks,
each affording scanty room for the narrow bed
and chair and dressing-table of a single lodger.
The great staircase, however, may be termed,
without much hyperbole, a feature of grandeur
and magnificence. It winds through the midst
of the house by flights of broad steps, each flight
terminating in a square landing-place, whence
the ascent is continued towards the cupola. A
carved balustrade, freshly painted in the lower
stories, but growing dingier as we ascend, bor-
ders the staircase with its quaintly twisted and
intertwined pillars, from top to bottom. Up
these stairs the military boots, or perchance the
gouty shoes, of many a governor have trodden,
as the wearers mounted to the cupola, which

4

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

afforded them so wide a view over their metrop-
oHs and the surrounding country. The cupola
is an octagon, with several windows, and a door
opening upon the roof. From this station, as
I pleased myself with imagining. Gage may have
beheld his disastrous victory on Bunker Hill
(unless one of the tri-mountains intervened), and
Howe have marked the approaches of Wash-
ington's besieging army ; although the build-
ings since erected in the vicinity have shut out
almost every object, save the steeple of the Old
South, which seems almost within arm's length.
Descending from the cupola, I paused in the gar-
ret to observe the ponderous white-oak frame-
work, so much more massive than the frames
of modern houses, and thereby resembling an
antique skeleton. The brick walls, the mate-
rials of which were imported from Holland, and
the timbers of the mansion, are still as sound as
ever ; but the floors and other interior parts be-
ing greatly decayed, it is contemplated to gut
the whole, and build a new house within the
ancient frame and brick-work. Among other
inconveniences of the present edifice, mine
host mentioned that any jar or motion was
apt to shake down the dust of ages out of the
ceiling of one chamber upon the floor of that
beneath it.

We stepped forth from the great front win-
dow into the balcony, where in old times it was

5

TWICE-TOLD TALES

doubtless the custom of the king's representa-
tive to show himself to a loyal populace, requit-
ing their huzzas and tossed-up hats with stately
bendings of his dignified person. In those days
the front of the Province House looked upon
the street ; and the whole site now occupied by
the brick range of stores, as well as the present
court-yard, was laid out in grass plats, overshad-
owed by trees and bordered by a wrought-iron
fence. Now, the old aristocratic edifice hides
its time-worn visage behind an upstart modern
building ; at one of the back windows I ob-
served some pretty tailoresses, sewing and chat-
ting and laughing, with now and then a careless
glance towards the balcony. Descending thence,
we again entered the bar-room, where the el-
derly gentleman above mentioned, the smack of
whose lips had spoken so favorably for Mr.
Waiters good liquor, was still lounging in his
chair. He seemed to be, if not a lodger, at
least a familiar visitor of the house, who might
be supposed to have his regular score at the
bar, his summer seat at the open window, and
his prescriptive corner at the winter's fireside.
Being of a sociable aspect, I ventured to address
him with a remark calculated to draw forth his
historical reminiscences, if any such were in his
mind ; and it gratified me to discover, that, be-
tween memory and tradition, the old gentleman
was really possessed of some very pleasant gos-

6

I

HOWFS MASQUERADE

sip about the Province House. The portion
of his talk which chiefly interested me was the
outline of the following legend. He professed
to have received it at one or two removes from
an eye-witness ; but this derivation, together
with the lapse of time, must have afforded
opportunities for many variations of the narra-
tive; so that despairing of literal and absolute
truth, I have not scrupled to make such further
changes as seemed conducive to the reader^s
profit and delight.

At one of the entertainments given at the
Province House, during the latter part of the
siege of Boston, there passed a scene which has
never yet been satisfactorily explained. The
officers of the British army, and the loyal gentry
of the province, most of whom were collected
within the beleaguered town, had been invited
to a masked ball ; for it was the policy of Sir
William Howe to hide the distress and danger
of the period, and the desperate aspect of the
siege, under an ostentation of festivity. The
spectacle of this evening, if the oldest members
of the provincial court circle might be believed,
was the most gay and gorgeous affair that had
occurred in the annals of the government. The
brilliantly lighted apartments were thronged
with figures that seemed to have stepped from

7

TWICE-TOLD TALES

the dark canvas of historic portraits, or to have
flitted forth from the magic pages of romance,
or at least to have flown hither from one of the
London theatres, without a change of garments.
Steeled knights of the Conquest, bearded states-
men of Queen Elizabeth, and high-rufl^ed ladies
of her court, were mingled with characters of
comedy, such as a party-colored Merry An-
drew, jingling his cap and bells ; a Falstafi^,
almost as provocative of laughter as his proto-
type ; and a Don Quixote, with a beanpole for
a lance, and a pot-lid for a shield.

But the broadest merriment was excited by
a group of figures ridiculously dressed in old
regimentals, which seemed to have been pur-
chased at a military rag fair, or pilfered from
some receptacle of the cast-off^ clothes of both
the French and British armies. Portions of
their attire had probably been worn at the siege
of Louisburg, and the coats of most recent cut
might have been rent and tattered by sword,
ball, or bayonet, as long ago as Wolfe's victory.
One of these worthies — a tall, lank figure,
brandishing a rusty sword of immense longitude
— purported to be no less a personage than
General George Washington ; and the other
principal oflicers of the American army, such
as Gates, Lee, Putnam, Schuyler, Ward, and
Heath, were represented by similar scarecrows.
An interview in the mock-heroic style, between

8

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

the rebel warriors and the British commander-
in-chief, was received with immense applause,
which came loudest of all from the loyalists of
the colony. There was one of the guests, how-
ever, who stood apart, eyeing these antics
sternly and scornfully, at once with a frown and
a bitter smile.

It was an old man, formerly of high station
and great repute in the province, and who had
been a very famous soldier in his day. Some
surprise had been expressed that a person of
Colonel Joliffe's known whig principles, though
now too old to take an active part in the con-
test, should have remained in Boston during
the siege, and especially that he should consent
to show himself in the mansion of Sir William
Howe. But thither he had come, with a fair
granddaughter under his arm ; and there, amid
all the mirth and buffoonery, stood this stern
old figure, the best sustained character in the
masquerade, because so well representing the
antique spirit of his native land. The other
guests affirmed that Colonel Joliffe's black, puri-
tanical scowl threw a shadow round about him ;
although, in spite of his sombre influence, their
gayety continued to blaze higher, like — (an
ominous comparison) — ^^the flickering brilliancy
of a lamp which has but a little while to burn.
Eleven strokes, full half an hour ago, had
pealed from the clock of the Old South, when

9

TWICE-TOLD TALES

a rumor was circulated among the company that
some new spectacle or pageant was about to be
exhibited, which should put a fitting close to
the splendid festivities of the night.

" What new jest has your Excellency in
hand ? " asked the Rev. Mather Byles, whose
Presbyterian scruples had not kept him from
the entertainment. " Trust me, sir, I have al-
ready laughed more than beseems my cloth at
your Homeric confabulation with yonder raga-
muffin General of the rebels. One other such
fit of merriment, and I must throw off my
clerical wig and band."

" Not so, good Dr. Byles," answered Sir
William Howe ; " if mirth were a crime, you
had never gained your doctorate in divinity.
As to this new foolery, I know no more about
it than yourself; perhaps not so much. Hon-
estly now. Doctor, have you not stirred up the
sober brains of some of your countrymen to
enact a scene in our masquerade ? "

" Perhaps," slyly remarked the granddaugh-
ter of Colonel Joliffe, whose high spirit had
been stung by many taunts against New Eng-
land, — " perhaps we are to have a mask of
allegorical figures. Victory, with trophies from
Lexington and Bunker Hill — Plenty, with her
overflowing horn, to typify the present abun-
dance in this good town — and Glory, with a
wreath for his Excellency's brow."

10

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

Sir William Howe smiled at words which he
would have answered with one of his darkest
frowns had they been uttered by lips that wore
a beard. He was spared the necessity of a
retort, by a singular interruption. A sound of
music was heard without the house, as if pro-
ceeding from a full band of military instruments
stationed in the street, playing not such a festal
strain as was suited to the occasion, but a slow
funeral march. The drums appeared to be
muffled, and the trumpets poured forth a wail-
ing breath, which at once hushed the merriment
of the auditors, filling all with wonder, and
some with apprehension. The idea occurred
to many that either the funeral procession of
some great personage had halted in front of the
Province House, or that a corpse, in a velvet
covered and gorgeously decorated coffin, was
about to be borne from the portal. After lis-
tening a moment. Sir William Howe called, in
a stern voice, to the leader of the musicians,
who had hitherto enlivened the entertainment
with gay and lightsome melodies. The man
was drum-major to one of the British regi-
ments.

" Dighton," demanded the General, " what
means this foolery ? Bid your band silence that
dead march — or, by my word, they shall have
sufficient cause for their lugubrious strains !
Silence it, sirrah ! "

II

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" Please your honor," answered the drum-
major, whose rubicund visage had lost all its
color, " the fault is none of mine. I and my
band are all here together, and I question
whether there be a man of us that could play
that march without book. I never heard it but
once before, and that was at the funeral of his
late Majesty, King George the Second."

" Well, well ! " said Sir William Howe, re-
covering his composure — " it is the prelude
to some masquerading antic. Let it pass."

A figure now presented itself, but among
the many fantastic masks that were dispersed
through the apartments, none could tell pre-
cisely from whence it came. It was a man in
an old-fashioned dress of black serge, and hav-
ing the aspect of a steward or principal domestic
in the household of a nobleman or great Eng-
lish landholder. This figure advanced to the
outer door of the mansion, and throwing both
its leaves wide open, withdrew a little to one
side and looked back towards the grand stair-
case, as if expecting some person to descend.
At the same time the music in the street
sounded a loud and doleful summons. The
eyes of Sir William Howe and his guests being
directed to the staircase, there appeared, on the
uppermost landing-place that was discernible
from the bottom, several personages descending
towards the door. The foremost was a man

12

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

of stern visage, wearing a steeple-crowned hat
and a skull-cap beneath it ; a dark cloak, and
huge wrinkled boots that came halfway up his
legs. Under his arm was a rolled-up banner,
which seemed to be the banner of England, but
strangely rent and torn ; he had a sword in his
right hand, and grasped a Bible in his left. The
next figure was of milder aspect, yet full of dig-
nity, wearing a broad ruff, over which descended
a beard, a gown of wrought velvet, and a dou-
blet and hose of black satin. He carried a roll
of manuscript in his hand. Close behind these
two came a young man of very striking coun-
tenance and demeanor, with deep thought and
contemplation on his brow, and perhaps a flash
of enthusiasm in his eye. His garb, like that
of his predecessors, was of an antique fashion,
and there was a stain of blood upon his ruif.
In the same group with these were three or four
others, all men of dignity and evident command,
and bearing themselves like personages who
were accustomed to the gaze of the multitude.
It was the idea of the beholders that these
figures went to join the mysterious funeral that
had halted in front of the Province House ; yet
that supposition seemed to be contradicted by
the air of triumph with which they waved their
hands, as they crossed the threshold and van-
ished through the portal.

" In the devirs name, what is this? " muttered
13

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Sir William Howe to a gentleman beside him ;
" a procession of the regicide judges of King
Charks the martyr ? "

" These/' said Colonel Joliffe, breaking
silence almost for the first time that evening, —
" these, if I interpret them aright, are the Puri-
tan governors, — the rulers of the old original
Democracy of Massachusetts. Endicott, with
the banner from which he had torn the symbol
of subjection, and Winthrop, and Sir Henry
Vane, and Dudley, Haynes, Bellingham, and
Leverett."

" Why had that young man a stain of blood
upon his ruff? " asked Miss JoHffe.

" Because, in after years," answered her
grandfather, " he laid down the wisest head in
England upon the block for the principles of
liberty."

" Will not your Excellency order out the
guard ? " whispered Lord Percy, who, with
other British officers, had now assembled round
the General. " There may be a plot under this
mummery."

" Tush ! we have nothing to fear," carelessly
replied Sir William Howe. " There can be no
worse treason in the matter than a jest, and
that somewhat of the dullest. Even were it a
sharp and bitter one, our best policy would be
to laugh it off. See — here come more of these
gentry."

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

Another group of characters had now partly
descended the staircase. The first was a vener-
able and white-bearded patriarch, who cautiously
felt his way downward with a staff. Treading
hastily behind him, and stretching forth his
gauntleted hand as if to grasp the old man's
shoulder, came a tall, soldier-like figure,
equipped with a plumed cap of steel, a bright
breastplate, and a long sword, which rattled
against the stairs. Next was seen a stout man,
dressed in rich and courtly attire, but not of
courtly demeanor ; his gait had the swinging
motion of a seaman's walk ; and chancing to
stumble on the staircase, he suddenly grew
wrathful, and was heard to mutter an oath. He
was followed by a noble-looking personage in
a curled wig, such as are represented in the
portraits of Queen Anne's time and earlier ;
and the breast of his coat was decorated with
an embroidered star. While advancing to the
door, he bowed to the right hand and to the
left, in a very gracious and insinuating style ;
but as he crossed the threshold, unlike the early
Puritan governors, he seemed to wring his .
hands with sorrow.

" Prithee, play the part of a chorus, good
Dr. Byles," said Sir William Howe. " What
worthies are these ? "

"If it please your Excellency, they lived
somewhat before my day," answered the Doc-

15

TWICE-TOLD TALES

tor ; " but doubtless our friend, the Colonel, has
been hand and glove with them/'

" Their living faces I never looked upon,"
said Colonel Joliffe gravely ; " although I have
spoken face to face with many rulers of this
land, and shall greet yet another with an old
man's blessing ere I die. But we talk of these
figures. I take the venerable patriarch to be
Bradstreet, the last of the Puritans, who was
governor at ninety, or thereabouts. The next
is Sir Edmund Andros, a tyrant, as any New
England schoolboy will tell you ; and there-
fore the people cast him down from his high
seat into a dungeon. Then comes Sir William
Phipps, shepherd, cooper, sea-captain, and gov-
ernor— may many of his countrymen rise as
high from as low an origin ! Lastly, you saw
the gracious Earl of Bellamont, who ruled us
under King William."

" But what is the meaning of it all ? " asked
Lord Percy.

" Now were I a rebel," said Miss Joliffe
half aloud, " I might fancy that the ghosts of
these ancient governors had been summoned to
form the funeral procession of royal authority
in New England."

Several other figures were now seen at the
turn of the staircase. The one in advance had
a thoughtful, anxious, and somewhat crafty ex-
pression of face, and in spite of his loftiness of
i6

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

manner, which was evidently the result both of
an ambitious spirit and of long continuance in
high stations, he seemed not incapable of crin-
ging to a greater than himself. A few steps
behind came an officer in a scarlet and embroid-
ered uniform, cut in a fashion old enough to
have been worn by the Duke of Marlborough.
His nose had a rubicund tinge, which, together
with the twinkle of his eye, might have marked
him as a lover of the wine cup and good fel-
lowship ; notwithstanding which tokens he
appeared ill at ease, and often glanced around
him as if apprehensive of some secret mischief.
Next came a portly gentleman, wearing a coat
of shaggy cloth, lined with silken velvet ; he
had sense, shrewdness, and humor in his face,
and a folio volume under his arm ; but his
aspect was that of a man vexed and tormented
beyond all patience, and harassed almost to
death. He went hastily down, and was fol-
lowed by a dignified person, dressed in a purple
velvet suit, with very rich embroidery ; his de-
meanor would have possessed much stateliness,
only that a grievous fit of the gout compelled
him to hobble from stair to stair, with contor-
tions of face and body. When Dr. Byles be-
held this figure on the staircase, he shivered as
with an ague, but continued to watch him stead-
fastly, until the gouty gentleman had reached
the threshold, made a gesture of anguish and

17

TWICE-TOLD TALES

despair, and vanished into the outer gloom,
whither the funeral music summoned him.

" Qovernor Belcher ! — my old patron ! —
in his very shape and dress ! " gasped Dr.
Byles. " This is an awful mockery ! "

" A tedious foolery, rather," said Sir William
Howe with an air of indifference. " But who
were the three that preceded him ? "

" Governor Dudley, a cunning politician —
yet his craft once brought him to a prison," re-
plied Colonel Joliffe. " Governor Shute, for-
merly a colonel under Marlborough, and whom
the people frightened out of the province ; and
learned Governor Burnet, whom the legislature
tormented into a mortal fever.*'

" Methinks they were miserable men, these
royal governors of Massachusetts," observed
Miss Joliffe. " Heavens, how dim the light
grows ! "

It was certainly a fact that the large lamp
which illuminated the staircase now burned dim
and duskily : so that several figures, which
passed hastily down the stairs and went forth
from the porch, appeared rather like shadows
than persons of fleshly substance. Sir William
Howe and his guests stood at the doors of the
contiguous apartments, watching the progress
of this singular pageant, with various emotions
of anger, contempt, or half-acknowledged fear,
but still with an anxious curiosity. The shapes
i8

HpWE'S MASQUERADE

which now seemed hastening to join the myste-
rious procession were recognized rather by strik-
ing peculiarities of dress, or broad characteristics
of manner, than by any perceptible resemblance
of features to their prototypes. Their faces,
indeed, were invariably kept in deep shadow.
But Dr. Byles, and other gentlemen who had
long been familiar with the successive rulers of
the province, were heard to whisper the names
of Shirley, of Pownall, of Sir Francis Bernard,
and of the well-remembered Hutchinson ; there-
by confessing that the actors, whoever they
might be, in this spectral march of governors,
had succeeded in putting on some distant por-
traiture of the real personages. As they van-
ished from the door, still did these shadows toss
their arms into the gloom of night, with a dread
expression of woe. Following the mimic repre-
sentative of Hutchinson came a military figure,
holding before his face the cocked hat which he
had taken from his powdered head ; but his
epaulettes and other insignia of rank were those
of a general officer, and something in his mien
reminded the beholders of one who had recently
been master of the Province House, and chief
of all the land.

" The shape of Gage, as true as in a looking-
glass," exclaimed Lord Percy, turning pale.

" No, surely," cried Miss JolifFe, laughing
hysterically ; " it could not be Gage, or Sir

19

TWICE-TOLD TALES

William would have greeted his old comrade
in arms ! Perhaps he will not suffer the next
to pass unchallenged."

" Of that be assured, young lady," answered
Sir William Howe, fixing his eyes, with a very
marked expression, upon the immovable visage
of her grandfather. " I have long enough
delayed to pay the ceremonies of a host to these
departing guests. The next that takes his leave
shall receive due courtesy."

A wild and dreary burst of music came
through the open door. It seemed as if the
procession, which had been gradually filling up
its ranks, were now about to move, and that
this loud peal of the wailing trumpets, and roll
of the muffled drums, were a call to some loi-
terer to make haste. Many eyes, by an irre-
sistible impulse, were turned upon Sir Wil-
liam Howe, as if it were he whom the dreary
music summoned to the funeral of departed
power.

" See ! — here comes the last ! " whispered
Miss Joliffe, pointing her tremulous finger to
the staircase.

A figure had come into view as if descending
the stairs ; although so dusky was the region
whence it emerged, some of the spectators fan-
cied that they had seen this human shape sud-
denly moulding itself amid the gloom. Down-
ward the figure came, with a stately and martial

20

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

tread, and reaching the lowest stair was observed
to be a tall man, booted and wrapped in a mili-
tary cloak, which was drawn up around the face
so as to meet the flapped brim of a laced hat.
The features, therefore, were completely hidden.
But the British officers deemed that they had
seen that military cloak before, and even recog-
nized the frayed embroidery on the collar, as
well as the gilded scabbard of a sword which
protruded from the folds of the cloak, and glit-
tered in a vivid gleam of light. Apart from
these trifling particulars, there were character-
istics of gait and bearing which impelled the
wondering guests to glance from the shrouded
figure to Sir William Howe, as if to satisfy
themselves that their host had not suddenly
vanished from the midst of them.

With a dark flush of wrath upon his brow,
they saw the General draw his sword and ad-
vance to meet the figure in the cloak before the
latter had stepped one pace upon the floor.

" Villain, unmuflle yourself ! " cried he.
" You pass no farther ! "

The figure, without blenching a hair's breadth
from the sword which was pointed at his breast,
made a solemn pause and lowered the cape of
the cloak from about his face, yet not suffi-
ciently for the spectators to catch a glimpse of
it. But Sir William Howe had evidently seen
enough. The sternness of his countenance gave

21

TWICE-TOLD TALES

place to a look of wild amazement, if not hor-
ror, while he recoiled several steps from the
figure, and let fall his sword upon the floor.
The martial shape again drew the cloak about
his features and passed on'; but reaching the
threshold, with his back towards the spectators,
he was seen to stamp his foot and shake his
clenched hands in the air. It was afterwards
affirmed that Sir William Howe had repeated
that selfsame gesture of rage and sorrow, when,
for the last time, and as the last royal governor,
he passed through the portal of the Province
House.

" Hark ! — the procession moves," said Miss
JoHflFe.

The music was dying away along the street,
and its dismal strains were mingled with the
knell of midnight from the steeple of the Old
South, and with the roar of artillery, which an-
nounced that the beleaguering army of Wash-
ington had entrenched itself upon a nearer
height than before. As the deep boom of the
cannon smote upon his ear. Colonel Joliffe
raised himself to the full height of his aged
form, and smiled sternly on the British Gen-
eral.

" Would your Excellency inquire further
into the mystery of the pageant ? " said he.

" Take care of your gray head ! " cried Sir
William Howe fiercely, though with a quiver-

22

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

ing lip. "It has stood too long on a traitor's
shoulders ! "

" You must make haste to chop it off, then,"
calmly replied the Colonel ; " for a few hours
longer, and not all the power of Sir William
Howe, nor of his master, shall cause one of
these gray hairs to fall. The empire of Britain
in this ancient province is at its last gasp to-
night;— almost while I speak, it is a dead
corpse ; and methinks the shadows of the old
governors are fit mourners at its funeral ! "

With these words Colonel JolifFe threw on
his cloak, and drawing his granddaughter's arm
within his own, retired from the last festival
that a British ruler ever held in the old pro-
vince of Massachusetts Bay. It was supposed
that the Colonel and the young lady possessed
some secret intelligence in regard to the mys-
terious pageant of that night. However this
might be, such knowledge has never become
general. The actors in the scene have van-
ished into deeper obscurity than even that wild
Indian band who scattered the cargoes of the
tea ships on the waves, and gained a place in
history, yet left no names. But superstition,
among other legends of this mansion, repeats
the wondrous tale, that on the anniversary night
of Britain's discomfiture, the ghosts of the an-
cient governors of Massachusetts still glide
through the portal of the Province House.
23

TWICE-TOLD TALES

And, last of all, comes a figure shrouded in a
military cloak, tossing his clenched hands into
the air, and stamping his iron-shod boots upon
the broad freestone steps, with a semblance of
feverish despair, but without the sound of a
foot-tramp.

When the truth-telling accents of the elderly
gentleman were hushed, I drew a long breath
and looked round the room, striving, with the
best energy of my imagination, to throw a tinge
of romance and historic grandeur over the real-
ities of the scene. But my nostrils snuffed up
a scent of cigar smoke, clouds of which the nar-
rator had emitted by way of visible emblem, I
suppose, of the nebulous obscurity of his tale.
Moreover, my gorgeous fantasies were woefully
disturbed by the rattling of the spoon in a tum-
bler of whiskey punch, which Mr. Thomas
Waite was mingling for a customer. Nor did
it add to the picturesque appearance of the pan-
elled walls that the slate of the Brookline stage
was suspended against them, instead of the
armorial escutcheon of some far-descended gov-
ernor. A stage-driver sat at one of the win-
dows, reading a penny paper of the day — the
Boston Times — and presenting a figure which
could nowise be brought into any picture of
" Times in Boston " seventy or a hundred years
ago. On the window-seat lay a bundle, neatly
24

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

done up in brown paper, the direction of which
I had the idle curiosity to read. " Miss Susan
HuGGiNS, at the Province House." A pretty-
chambermaid, no doubt. In truth, it is des-
perately hard work, when we attempt to throw
the spell of hoar antiquity over localities with
which the living world, and the day that is pass-
ing over us, have aught to do. Yet, as I
glanced at the stately staircase down which the
procession of the old governors had descended,
and as I emerged through the venerable portal
whence their figures had preceded me, it glad-
dened me to be conscious of a thrill of awe.
Then, diving through the narrow archway, a
few strides transported me into the densest
throng of Washington Street.
25

tl

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

THE old legendary guest of the Pro-
vince House abode in my remem-
brance from midsummer till January.
One idle evening last winter, confident that he
would be found in the snuggest corner of the
bar-room, I resolved to pay him another visit,
hoping to deserve well of my country by snatch-
ing from oblivion some else unheard-of fact of
history. The night was chill and raw, and ren-
dered boisterous by almost a gale of wind, which
whistled along Washington Street, causing the
gas-lights to flare and flicker within the lamps.
As I hurried onward, my fancy was busy with
a comparison between the present aspect of the
street and that which it probably wore when the
British governors inhabited the mansion whither
I was now going. Brick edifices in those times
were few, till a succession of destructive fires
had swept, and swept again, the wooden dwell-
ings and warehouses from the most populous
quarters of the town. The buildings stood insu-
lated and independent, not, as now, merging
their separate existences into connected ranges,
26

I

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

with a front of tiresome identity, — but each
possessing features of its own, as if the owner's
individual taste had shaped it, — and the whole
presenting a picturesque irregularity, the ab-
sence of which is hardly compensated by any
beauties of our modern architecture. Such a
scene, dimly vanishing from the eye by the ray
of here and there a tallow candle, glimmering
through the small panes of scattered windows,
would form a sombre contrast to the street as
I beheld it, with the gas-lights blazing from
corner to corner, flaming within the shops, and
throwing a noonday brightness through the
huge plates of glass.

But the black, lowering sky, as I turned my
eyes upward, wore, doubtless, the same visage
as when it frowned upon the ante-revolutionary
New Englanders. The wintry blast had the
same shriek that was familiar to their ears. The
Old South Church, too, still pointed its antique
spire into the darkness, and was lost between
earth and heaven ; and as I passed, its clock,
which had warned so many generations how
transitory was their lifetime, spoke heavily and
slow the same unregarded moral to myself.
" Only seven o'clock," thought I. " My old
friend's legends will scarcely kill the hours
'twixt this and bedtime."

Passing through the narrow arch, I crossed
the court-yard, the confined precincts of which

27 ,

TWICE-TOLD TALES

were made visible by a lantern over the portal
of the Province House. On entering the bar-
room, I found, as I expected, the old tradi-
tion-monger seated by a special good fire of
anthracite, compelling clouds of smoke from
a corpulent cigar. He recognized me with
evident pleasure ; for my rare properties as a
patient listener invariably make me a favorite
with elderly gentlemen and ladies of narrative
propensities. Drawing a chair to the fire, I
desired mine host to favor us with a glass apiece
of whiskey punch, which was speedily prepared,
steaming hot, with a slice of lemon at the bot-
tom, a dark-red stratum of port wine upon the
surface, and a sprinkling of nutmeg strewn over
all. As we touched our glasses together, my
legendary friend made himself known to me as
Mr. Bela Tiffany ; and I rejoiced at the oddity
of the name, because it gave his image and
character a sort of individuality in my concep-
tion. The old gentleman's draught acted as a
solvent upon his memory, so that it overflowed
with tales, traditions, anecdotes of famous dead
people, and traits of ancient manners, some of
which were childish as a nurse's lullaby, while
others might have been worth -the notice of the
grave historian. Nothing impressed me more
than a story of a black, mysterious picture,
which used to hang in one of the chambers of
the Province House^ directly above the room

28

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

.where we were now sitting. The following is
as correct a version of the fact as the reader
would be likely to obtain from any other source,
although, assuredly, it has a tinge of romance
approaching to the marvellous.

In one of the apartments of the Province
House there was long preserved an ancient pic-
ture, the frame of which was as black as ebony,
and the canvas itself so dark with age, damp,
and smoke, that not a touch of the painter's
art could be discerned. Time had thrown an
impenetrable veil over it, and left to tradition
and fable and conjecture to say what had once
been there portrayed. During the rule of many
successive governors, it had hung, by pre-
scriptive and undisputed right, over the mantel-
piece of the same chamber ; and it still kept its
place when Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson
assumed the administration of the province, on
the departure of Sir Francis Bernard.

The Lieutenant-Governor sat, one afternoon,
resting his head against the carved back of his
stately armchair, and gazing up thoughtfully
at the void blackness of the picture. It was
scarcely a time for such inactive musing, when
affairs of the deepest moment required the ruler^s
decision ; for, within that very hour, Hutchin-
son had received intelligence of the arrival of

29

TWICE-TOLD TALES

a British fleet, bringing three regiments from ,
Halifax to overawe the insubordination of the
people. These troops awaited his permission
to occupy the fortress of Castle William, and
the town itself. Yet, instead of affixing his
signature to an official order, there sat the
Lieutenant-Governor, so carefully scrutinizing
the black waste of canvas that his demeanor
attracted the notice of two young persons who
attended him. One, wearing a military dress
of buff, was his kinsman, Francis Lincoln, the
Provincial Captain of Castle William ; the other,
who sat on a low stool beside his chair, was
Alice Vane, his favorite niece.

She was clad entirely in white, a pale, ethereal
creature, who, though a native of New England,
had been educated abroad, and seemed not
merely a stranger from another clime, but al-
most a being from another world. For several
years, until left an orphan, she had dwelt with
her father in sunny Italy, and there had acquired
a taste and enthusiasm for sculpture and paint-
ing which she found few opportunities of grat-
ifying in the undecorated dwellings of the
colonial gentry. It was said that the early pro-
ductions of her own pencil exhibited" no inferior
genius, though, perhaps, the rude atmosphere
of New England had cramped her hand, and
dimmed the glowing colors of her fancy. But
observing her uncle' s steadfast gaze, which ap-

30

t

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

peared to search through the mist of years to
discover the subject of the picture, her curiosity
was excited.

" Is it known, my dear uncle," inquired she,
" what this old picture once represented ? Pos-
sibly, could it be made visible, it might prove
a masterpiece of some great artist — else, why
has it so long held such a conspicuous place ? "

As her uncle, contrary to his usual custom
(for he was as attentive to all the humors and
caprices of Alice as if she had been his own
best-beloved child), did not immediately reply,
the young Captain of Castle William took that
office upon himself.

" This dark old square of canvas, my fair
cousin," said he, " has been an heirloom in the
Province House from time immemorial. As
to the painter, I can tell you nothing ; but, if
half the stories told of it be true, not one of the
great Italian masters has ever produced so mar-
vellous a piece of work as that before you."

Captain Lincoln proceeded to relate some of
the strange fables and fantasies which, as it was
impossible to refute them by ocular demonstra-
tion, had grown to be articles of popular belief
in reference to this old picture. One of the
wildest, and at the same time the best accredited,
accounts, stated it to be an original and authen-
tic portrait of the Evil One, taken at a witch
meeting near Salem ; and that its strong and
31

TWICE-TOLD TALES

terrible resemblance had been confirmed by
several of the confessing wizards and witches,
at their trial, in open court. It was likewise
affirmed that a familiar spirit or demon abode
behind the blackness of the picture, and had
shown himself, at seasons of public calamity, to
more than one of the royal governors. Shirley,
for instance, hadtbeheld this ominous apparition,
on the eve of General Abercrombie's shameful
and bloody defeat under the walls of Ticon-
deroga. Many of the servants of the Province
House had caught glimpses of a visage frown-
ing down upon them, at morning or evening
twilight, — or in the depths of night, while rak-
ing up the fire that glimmered on the hearth
beneath ; although, if any were bold enough to
hold a torch before the picture, it would appear
as black and undistinguishable as ever. The
oldest inhabitant of Boston recollected that his
father, in whose days the portrait had not wholly
faded out of sight, had once looked upon it, but
would never suffer himself to be questioned
as to the face which was there represented. In
connection with such stories, it was remarkable
that over the top of the frame there were some
ragged remnants of black silk, indicating that a
veil had formerly hung down before the picture,
until the duskiness of time had so effectually
concealed it. But, after all, it was the most
singular part of the affair that so many of
32

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

the pompous governors of Massachusetts had
allowed the obliterated picture to remain in the
state chamber of the Province House.

" Some of these fables are really awful," ob-
served Alice Vane, who had occasionally shud-
dered, as well as smiled, while her cousin spoke.
" It would be almost worth while to wipe away,
the black surface of the canvas, since the origi-
nal picture can hardly be so formidable as those
which fancy paints instead of it."

" But would it be possible," inquired her
cousin, " to restore this dark picture to its pris-
tine hues ? "

" Such arts are known in Italy," said Alice.

The Lieutenant-Governor had roused him-
self from his abstracted mood, and listened with
a smile to the conversation of his young rela-
tives. Yet his voice had something peculiar in
its tones when he undertook the explanation
of the mystery.

" I am sorry, Alice, to destroy your faith in
the legends of which you are so fond," re-
marked he ; " but my " antiquarian researches
have long since made me acquainted with the
subject of this picture — if picture it can be
called — which is no more visible, nor ever will
be, than the face of the long-buried man whom
it once represented. It was the portrait of Ed-
ward Randolph, the founder of this house, a
person famous in the history of New England."
33

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" Of that Edward Randolph," exclaimed
Captain Lincoln, " who obtained the repeal of
the first provincial charter, under which our
forefathers had enjoyed almost democratic priv-
ileges ! He that was styled the arch-enemy of
New England, and whose memory is still held
in detestation as the destroyer of our liberties ! "

" It was the same Randolph," answered
Hutchinson, moving uneasily in his chair. " It
was his lot to taste the bitterness of popular
odium."

" Our annals tell us," continued the Captain
of Castle William, " that the curse of the peo-
ple followed this Randolph where he went, and
wrought evil in all the subsequent events of his
life, and that its effect was seen likewise in the
manner of his death. They say, too, that the
inward misery of that curse worked itself out-
ward, and was visible on the wretched man*s
countenance, making it too horrible to be looked
upon. If so, and if this picture truly repre-
sented his aspect, it was in mercy that the cloud
of blackness has gathered over it."

" These traditions are folly to one who has
proved, as I have, how little of historic truth
lies at the bottom,", said the Lieutenant-Gov-
ernor. " As regards the life and character of
Edward Randolph, too implicit credence has
been given to Dr. Cotton Mather, who — I
must say it, though some of his blood runs in
34

{

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

my veins — has filled our early history with old
women's tales, as fanciful and extravagant as
those of Greece or Rome."

" And yet," whispered Alice Vane, " may not
such fables have a moral ? And, methinks, if
the visage of this portrait be so dreadful, it is
not without a cause that it has hung so long in
a chamber of the Province House. When the
rulers feel themselves irresponsible, it were well
that they should be reminded of the awful
weight of a people's curse."

The Lieutenant-Governor started, and gazed
for a moment at his niece, as if her girlish fan-
tasies had struck upon some feeling in his own
breast, which all his policy or principles could
not entirely subdue. He knew, indeed, that
Alice, in spite of her foreign education, retained
the native sympathies of a New England girl.

" Peace, silly child," cried he, at last, more
harshly than he had ever before addressed the
gentle Alice. " The rebuke of a king is more
to be dreaded than the clamor of a wild, mis-
guided multitude. Captain Lincoln, it is de-
cided. The fortress of Castle William must be
occupied by the royal troops. The two re-
maining regiments shall be billeted in the town,
or encamped upon the Common. It is time,
after years of tumult, and almost rebellion, that
his majesty's government should have a wall of
strength about it."

35

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" Trust, sir — trust yet awhile to the loyalty
of the people," said Captain Lincoln ; " nor teach
them that they can ever be on other terms
with British soldiers than those of brotherhood,
as when they fought side by side through the
French War. Do not convert the streets of
your native town into a camp. Think twice
before you give up old Castle William, the key
of the province, into other keeping than that of
true-born New Englanders."

"Young man, it is decided," repeated Hutch-
inson, rising from his chair. " A British officer
will be in attendance this evening, to receive the
necessary instructions for the disposal of the
troops. Your presence also will be required.
Till then, farewell."

With these words the Lieutenant-Governor
hastily left the room, while Alice and her cousin
more slowly followed, whispering together, and
once pausing to glance back at the mysterious
picture. The Captain of Castle WilHam fancied
that the girFs air and mien were such as might
have belonged to one of those spirits of fable
— fairies, or creatures of a more antique my-
thology — who sometimes mingled their agency
with mortal affairs, half in caprice, yet with a
sensibility to human weal or woe. As he held
the door for her to pass, Alice beckoned to the
picture and smiled.

36

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

" Come forth, dark and evil Shape ! " cried
she. " It is thine hour ! **

In the evening, Lieutenant-Governor Hutch-
inson sat in the same chamber where the fore-
going scene had occurred, surrounded by several
persons whose various interests had summoned
them together. There were the Selectmen of
Boston, plain, patriarchal fathers of the people,
excellent representatives of the old puritanical
founders, whose sombre strength had stamped
so deep an impress upon the New England
character. Contrasting with these were one or
two members of Council, richly dressed in the
white wigs, the embroidered waistcoats and other
magnificence of the time, and making a some-
what ostentatious display of courtier-like cere-
monial. In attendance, likewise, was a major
of the British army, awaiting the Lieutenant-
Governor's orders for the landing of the troops,
which still remained on board the transports.
The Captain of Castle William stood beside
Hutchinson's chair with folded arms, glancing
rather haughtily at the British officer, by whom
he was soon to be superseded in his command.
On a table, in the centre of the chamber, stood
a branched silver candlestick, throwing down
the glow of half a dozen wax-lights upon a paper
apparently ready for the Lieutenant-Governor's
signature.

Partly shrouded in the voluminous folds of
37

TWICE-TOLD TALES

one of the window curtains, which fell from the
ceiling to the floor, was seen the white drapery
of a lady's robe. It may appear strange that
Alice Vane should have been there at such a
time ; but there was something so childlike, so
wayward, in her singular character, so apart from
ordinary rules, that her presence did not sur-
prise the few who noticed it. Meantime, the
chairman of the Selectmen was addressing to the
Lieutenant-Governor a long and solemn protest
against the reception of the British troops into
the town.

" And if your Honor," concluded this excel-
lent but somewhat prosy old gentleman, " shall
see fit to persist in bringing these mercenary
sworders and musketeers into our quiet streets,
not on our heads be the responsibility. Think,
sir, while there is yet time, that if one drop of
blood be shed, that blood shall be an eternal
stain upon your Honor's memory. You, sir,
have written with an able pen the deeds of our
forefathers. The more to be desired is it,
therefore, that yourself should deserve honor-
able mention, as a true patriot and upright
ruler, when your own doings shall be written
down in history."

" I am not insensible, my good sir, to the
natural desire to stand well in the annals of my
country," replied Hutchinson, controlling his
impatience into courtesy, " nor know I any bet-

38

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

ter method of attaining that end than by with-
standing the merely temporary spirit of mis-
chief, which, with your pardon, seems to have
infected elder men than myself Would you
have me wait till the mob shall sack the Pro-
vince House, as they did my private mansion ?
Trust me, sir, the time may come when you
will be glad to flee for protection to the king's
banner, the raising of which is now so distaste-
ful to you."

" Yes," said the British major, who was im-
patiently expecting the Lieutenant-Governor's
orders. " The demagogues of this Province
have raised the devil and cannot lay him again.
We will exorcise him, in God's name and the
king's."

"If you meddle with the devil, take care of
his claws ! " answered the Captain of Castle
William, stirred by the taunt against his coun-
trymen.

" Craving your pardon, young sir," said the
venerable Selectman, " let not an evil spirit
enter into your words. We will strive against
the oppressor with prayer and fasting, as our
forefathers would have done. Like them, more-
over, we will submit to whatever lot a wise Pro-
vidence may send us, — always, after our own
best exertions to amend it."

" And there peep forth the devil's claws ! "
muttered Hutchinson, who well understood the
39

TWICE-TOLD TALES

nature of Puritan submission. *'This matter
shall be expedited forthwith. When there shall
be a sentinel at every corner, and a court of
guard before the town house, a loyal gentleman
may venture to walk abroad. What to me is
the outcry of a mob, in this remote province of
the realm ? The king is my master, and Eng-
land is my country ! Upheld by their armed
strength, I set my foot upon the rabble, and
defy them ! "

He snatched a pen, and was about to affix
his signature to the paper that lay on the table,
when the Captain of Castle William placed his
hand upon his shoulder. The freedom of the
action, so contrary to the ceremonious respect
which was then considered due to rank and
dignity, awakened general surprise, and in none
more than in the Lieutenant-Governor himself.
Looking angrily up, he perceived that his young
relative was pointing his finger to the opposite
wall. Hutchinson's eye followed the signal ;
and he saw, what had hitherto been unobserved,
that a black silk curtain was suspended before
the mysterious picture, so as completely to con-
ceal it. His thoughts immediately recurred to
the scene of the preceding afternoon ; and, in
his surprise, confused by indistinct emotions,
yet sensible that his niece must have had an
agency in this phenomenon, he called loudly
upon her.

40

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

" Alice ! — come hither, Alice ! "

No sooner had he spoken than Alice Vane
glided from her station, and pressing one hand
across her eyes, with the other snatched away
the sable curtain that concealed the portrait.
An exclamation of surprise burst from every
beholder ; but the Lieutenant-Governor's voice
had a tone of horror.

" By Heaven ! " said he, in a low, inward
murmur, speaking rather to himself than to
those around him, " if the spirit of Edward
Randolph were to appear among us from the
place of torment, he could not wear more of the
terrors of hell upon his face ! "

" For some wise end,'* said the aged Se-
lectman solemnly, "hath Providence scattered
away the mist of years that had so long hid this
dreadful effigy. Until this hour no living man
hath seen what we behold ! "

Within the antique fram^, which so recently
had enclosed a sable waste of canvas, now ap-
peared a visible picture, still dark, indeed, in its
hues and shadings, but thrown forward in strong
relief. It was a half-length figure of a gentle-
man in a rich but very old-fashioned dress of
embroidered velvet, with a broad ruff and a
beard, and wearing a hat, the brim of which
overshadowed his forehead. Beneath this cloud
the eyes had a peculiar glare, which was almost
lifelike. The whole portrait started so distinctly
41

TWICE-TOLD TALES

out of the background, that it had the effect of
a person looking down from the wall at the
astonished and awe-stricken spectators. The
expression of the face, if any words can convey
an idea of it, was that of a wretch detected in
some hideous guilt, and exposed to the bitter
hatred and laughter and withering scorn of a vast
surrounding multitude. There was the struggle
of defiance, beaten down and overwhelmed by
the crushing weight of ignominy. The torture
of the soul had come forth upon the counte-
nance. It seemed as if the picture, while hid-
den behind the cloud of immemorial years, had
been all the time acquiring an intenser depth
and darkness of expression, till now it gloomed
forth again, and threw its evil omen over the
present hour. Such, if the wild legend may be
credited, was the portrait of Edward Randolph,
as he appeared when a people*s curse had
wrought its influence upon his nature.

" *T would drive me mad — that awful face ! "
said Hutchinson, who seemed fascinated by the
contemplation of it.

" Be warned, then ! " whispered Alice. " He
trampled on a people's rights. Behold his pun-
ishment — and avoid a crime like his ! "

The Lieutenant-Governor actually trembled
for an instant; but, exerting his energy —
which was not, however, his most characteristic
42

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

feature — he strove to shake off the spell of
Randolph's countenance.

" Girl ! '* cried he, laughing bitterly as he
turned to Alice, " have you brought hither
your painter's art — your Italian spirit of in-
trigue — your tricks of stage effect — and think
to influence the councils of rulers and the affairs
of nations by such shallow contrivances ? See
here ! "

"Stay yet a while," said the Selectman, as
Hutchinson again snatched the pen ; " for if
ever mortal man received a warning from a tor-
mented soul, your Honor is that man ! "

" Away ! " answered Hutchinson fiercely.
" Though yonder senseless picture cried ' For-
bear ! ' — it should not move me ! "

Casting a scowl of defiance at the pictured
face (which seemed at that moment to intensify
the horror of its miserable and wicked look),
he scrawled on the paper, in characters that
betokened it a deed of desperation, the name
of Thomas Hutchinson. Then, it is said,
he shuddered, as if that signature had granted
away his salvation.

" It is done," said he ; and placed his hand
upon his brow.

" May Heaven forgive the deed," said the
soft, sad accents of Alice Vane, like the voice of
a good spirit flitting away.

When morning came, there was a stifled
43

TWICE-TOLD TALES

whisper through the household, and spreading
thence about the town, that the dark, myste-
rious picture had started from the wall, and
spoken face to face with Lieutenant-Governor
Hutchinson. If such a miracle had been
wrought, however, no traces of it remained be-
hind, for within the antique frame nothing could
be discerned save the impenetrable cloud, which
had covered the canvas since the memory of
man. If the figure had, indeed, stepped forth,
it had fled back, spirit-like, at the day-dawn, and
hidden itself behind a century's obscurity. The
truth probably was, that Alice Vane's secret for
restoring the tiues of the picture had merely
effected a temporary renovation. But those
who, in that brief interval, had beheld the
awful visage of Edward Randolph, desired no
second glance, and ever afterwards trembled at
the recollection of the scene, as if an evil spirit
had appeared visibly among them. And as for
Hutchinson, when, far over the ocean, his
dying hour drew on, he gasped for breath, and
complained that he was choking with the blood
of the Boston Massacre ; and Francis Lincoln,
the former Captain of Castle William, who was
standing at his bedside, perceived a likeness
in his frenzied look to that of Edward Ran-
dolph. Did his broken spirit feel, at that
dread hour, the tremendous burden of a Peo-
ple's curse ?

44

EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT

At the conclusion of this miraculous legend,
I inquired of mine host whether the picture
still remained in the chamber over our heads ;
but Mr. Tiffany informed me that it had long
since been removed, and was supposed to be
hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the
New England Museum. Perchance some curi-
ous antiquary may light upon it there, and,
with the assistance of Mr. Howorth, the picture
cleaner, may supply a not unnecessary proof
of the authenticity of the facts here set down.
During the progress of the story a storm had
been gathering abroad, and raging and rattling
so loudly in the upper regions of the Province
House, that it seemed as if all the old gov-
ernors and great men were running riot above
stairs while Mr. Bela Tiffany babbled of them
below. In the course of generations, when
many people have lived and died in an an-
cient house, the whistling of the wind through
its crannies, and the creaking of its beams and
rafters, become strangely like the tones of the
human voice, or thundering laughter, or heavy
footsteps treading the deserted chambers. It is
as if the echoes of half a century were revived.
Such were the ghostly sounds that roared and
murmured in our ears when I took leave of the
circle round the fireside of the Province House,
and plunging down the doorsteps, fought my
way homeward against a drifting snowstorm.
45

Ill

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

MINE excellent friend, the landlord of
the Province House, was pleased, the
other evening, to invite Mr. Tiffany
and myself to an oyster supper. This slight
mark of respect and gratitude, as he handsomely
observed, was far less than the ingenious tale-
teller, and I, the humble note-taker of his nar-
ratives, had fairly earned, by the public notice
which our joint lucubrations had attracted to
his establishment. Many a cigar had been
smoked within his premises — many a glass of
wine, or more potent aqua vitae, had been
quaffed — many a dinner had been eaten by
curious strangers, who, save for the fortunate
conjunction of Mr. Tiffany and me, would
never have ventured through that darksome
avenue which gives access to the historic pre-
cincts of the Province House. In short, if any
credit be due to the courteous assurances of
Mr. Thomas Waite, we had brought his forgot-
ten mansion almost as effectually into public
view as if we had thrown down the vulgar range
of shoe-shops and dry-goods stores, which hides
46

1

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

its aristocratic front from Washington Street.
It may be unadvisable, however, to speak too
loudly of the increased custom of the house,
lest Mr. Waite should find it difficult to renew
the lease on so favorable terms as heretofore.

Being thus welcomed as benefactors, neither
Mr. Tiffany nor myself felt any scruple in doing
full justice to the good things that were set be-
fore us. If the feast were less magnificent than
those same panelled walls had witnessed in a
bygone century, — if mine host presided with
somewhat less of state than might have befitted a
successor of the royal Governors, — if the guests
made a less imposing show than the bewigged
and powdered and embroidered dignitaries,
who erst banqueted at the gubernatorial table,
and now sleep within their armorial tombs on
Copp's Hill, or round King's Chapel, — yet
never, I may boldly say, did a more comfort-
able little party assemble in the Province House,
from Queen Anne's days to the Revolution.
The occasion was rendered more interesting by
the presence of a venerable personage, whose
own actual reminiscences went back to the
epoch of Gage and Howe, and even supplied
him with a doubtful anecdote or two of Hutch-
inson. He was one of that small, and now all
but extinguished, class, whose attachment to
royalty, and to the colonial institutions and cus-
toms that were connected with it, had never
47

TWICE-TOLD TALES

yielded to the democratic heresies of after times.
The young queen of Britain has not a more
loyal subject in her realm — perhaps not one
who would kneel before her throne with such
reverential love — as this old grandsire, whose
head has whitened beneath the mild sway of the
Republic, which still, in his mellower moments,
he terms a usurpation. Yet prejudices so obsti-
nate have not made him an ungentle or imprac-
ticable companion. If the truth must be told,
the life of the aged loyalist has been of such a
scrambling and unsettled character, — he has
had so little choice of friends and been so often
destitute of any, — that I doubt whether he
would refuse a cup of kindness with either
Oliver Cromwell or John Hancock, — to say
nothing of any democrat now upon the stage.
In another paper of this series I may per-
haps give the reader a closer glimpse of his
portrait.

Our host, in due season, uncorked a bottle
of Madeira, of such exquisite perfume and ad-
mirable flavor that he surely must have dis-
covered it in an ancient bin, down deep beneath
the deepest cellar, where some jolly old butler
stored away the Governor's choicest wine, and
forgot to reveal the secret on his death-bed.
Peace to his red-nosed ghost, and a libation to
his memory ! This precious liquor was im-
bibed by Mr. TiflTany with peculiar zest ; and
48

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

after sipping the third glass, it was his pleasure
to give us one of the oddest legends which he
had yet raked from the storehouse where he
keeps such matters. With some suitable adorn-
ments from my own fancy, it ran pretty much
as follows.

Not long after Colonel Shute had assumed
the government of Massachusetts Bay, now
nearly a hundred and twenty years ago, a young
lady of rank and fortune arrived from England,
to claim his protection as her guardian. He
was her distant relative, but the nearest who
had survived the gradual extinction of her
family ; so that no more eligible shelter could
be found for the rich and high-born Lady
Eleanore RochclifFe than within the Province
House of a transatlantic colony. The consort
of Governor Shute, moreover, had been as a
mother to her childhood, and was now anxious
to receive her, in the hope that a beautiful young
woman would be exposed to infinitely less peril
from the primitive society of New England than
amid the artifices and corruptions of a court.
If either the Governor or his lady had espe-
cially consulted their own comfort, they would
probably have sought to devolve the responsi-
bility on other hands ; since, with some noble
and splendid traits of character. Lady Eleanore
was remarkable for a harsh, unyielding pride,
49

TWICE-TOLD TALES

a haughty consciousness of her hereditary and
personal advantages, which made her almost
incapable of control. Judging from many tra-
ditionary anecdotes, this peculiar temper was
hardly less than a monomania ; or, if the acts
which it inspired were those of a sane person,
it seemed due from Providence that pride so
sinful should be followed by as severe a retri-
bution. That tinge of the marvellous, which
is thrown over so many of these half-forgotten
legends, has probably imparted an additional
wildness to the strange story of Lady Eleanore
RochclifFe.

The ship in which she came passenger had
arrived at Newport, whence Lady Eleanore was
conveyed to Boston in the Governor's coach,
attended by a small escort of gentlemen on
horseback. The ponderous equipage, with its
four black horses, attracted much . notice as it
rumbled through Cornhill, surrounded by the
prancing steeds of half a dozen cavaliers, with
swords dangling to their stirrups and pistols at
their holsters. Through the large glass win-
dows of the coach, as it rolled along, the people
could discern the figure of Lady Eleanore,
strangely combining an almost queenly stateli-
ness with the grace and beauty of a maiden in
her teens. A singular tale had gone abroad
among the ladies of the province, that their fair
rival was indebted for much of the irresistible
50

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

charm of her appearance to a certain article of
dress — an embroidered mantle — which had
been wrought by the most skilful artist in Lon-
don, and possessed even magical properties of
adornment. On the present occasion, however,
she owed nothing to the witchery of dress, being
clad in a riding-habit of velvet, which would
have appeared stiff and ungraceful on any other
form.

The coachman reined in his four black steeds,
and the whole cavalcade came to a pause in
front of the contorted iron balustrade that fenced
the Province House from the public street. It
was an awkward coincidence that the bell of the
Old South was just then tolling for a funeral ;
so that, instead of a gladsome peal with which
it was customary to announce the arrival of dis-
tinguished strangers. Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe
was ushered by a doleful clang, as if calamity
had come embodied in her beautiful person.

" A very great disrespect ! " exclaimed Cap-
tain Langford, an English officer who had re-
cently brought despatches to Governor Shute.
" The funeral should have been deferred, lest
Lady Eleanore*s spirits be affected by such a
dismal welcome."

" With your pardon, sir," replied Dr.

Clarke, a physician, and a famous champion of

the popular party, "whatever the heralds may

pretend, a dead beggar must have precedence

51

TWICE-TOLD TALES

of a living queen. King Death confers high
privileges."

These remarks were interchanged while the
speakers waited a passage through the crowd,
which had gathered on each side of the gateway,
leaving an open avenue to the portal of the
Province House. A black slave in livery now
leaped from behind the coach, and threw open
the door; while at the same moment Governor
Shute descended the flight of steps from his
mansion, to assist Lady Eleanore in alighting.
But the Governor's stately approach was anti-
cipated in a manner that excited general aston-
ishment. A pale young man, with his black
hair all in disorder, rushed from the throng, and
prostrated himself beside the coach, thus off'er-
ing his person as a footstool for Lady Eleanore
RochclifFe to tread upon. She held back an
instant, yet with an expression as if doubting
whether the young man were worthy to bear
the weight of her footstep, rather than dissatis-
fied to receive such awful reverence from a fel-
low mortal.

" Up, sir," said the Governor sternly, at
the same time lifting his cane over the in-
truder. " What means the Bedlamite by this
freak?"

" Nay," answered Lady Eleanore playfully,
but with more scorn than pity in her tone,
" your Excellency shall not strike him. When
52

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

men seek only to be trampled upon, it were a
pity to deny them a favor so easily granted —
and so well deserved ! "

Then, though as lightly as a sunbeam on a
cloud, she placed her foot upon the cowering
form, and extended her hand to meet that of
the Governor. There was a brief interval, dur-
ing which Lady Eleanore retained this attitude ;
and never, surely, was there an apter emblem
of aristocracy and hereditary pride trampling
on human sympathies and the kindred of na-
ture, than these two figures presented at that
moment. Yet the spectators were so smitten
with her beauty, and so essential did pride seem
to the existence of such a creature, that they
gave a simultaneous acclamation of applause.

"Who is this insolent young fellow ? '* in-
quired Captain Langford, who still remained
beside Dr. Clarke. "If he be in his senses,
his impertinence demands the bastinado. If
mad, Lady Eleanore should be secured from
further inconvenience, by his confinement."

" His name is Jervase Helwyse," answered
the Doctor ; " a youth of no birth or fortune,
or other advantages, save the mind and soul
that nature gave him ; and being secretary to
our colonial agent in London, it was his mis-
fortune to meet this Lady Eleanore RochcHffe.
He loved her — and her scorn has driven him
mad."

53

TWICE-TOLD TALES

"He was mad so to aspire/' observed the
English officer.

"It may be so," said Dr. Clarke, frowning
as he spoke. " But I tell you, sir, I could well-
nigh doubt the justice of the Heaven above
us, if no signal humiliation overtake this lady,
who now treads so haughtily into yonder man-
sion. She seeks to place herself above the
sympathies of our common nature, which en-
velops all human souls. See, if that nature
do not assert its claim over her in some mode
that shall bring her level with the lowest ! "

" Never ! ** cried Captain Langford indig-
nantly — " neither in life, nor when they lay
her with her ancestors."

Not many days afterwards, the Governor gave
a ball in honor of Lady Eleanore RochclifFe.
The principal gentry of the colony received
invitations, which were distributed to their
residences, far and near, by messengers on
horseback, bearing missives sealed with all the
formality of official despatches. In obedience
to the summons, there was a general gather-
ing of rank, wealth, and beauty ; and the wide
door of the Province House had seldom given
admittance to more numerous and honorable
guests than on the evening of Lady Eleanore's
ball. Without much extravagance of eulogy,
the spectacle might even be termed splendid ;
for, according to the fashion of the times, the
54

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

ladies shone in rich silks and satins, outspread
over wide-projecting hoops ; and the gentle-
men glittered in gold embroidery, laid unspar-
ingly upon the purple, or scarlet, or sky-blue
velvet, which was the material of their coats and
waistcoats. The latter article of dress was of
great importance, since it enveloped the wearer's
body nearly to the knees, and was perhaps
bedizened with the amount of his whole year's
income, in golden flowers and foliage. The
altered taste of the present day — a taste sym-
bolic of a deep change in the whole system of
society — would look upon almost any of those
gorgeous figures as ridiculous ; although that
evening the guests sought their reflections in
the pier-glasses, and rejoiced to catch their own
glitter amid the glittering crowd. What a pity
that one of the stately mirrors has not preserved
a picture of the scene, which, by the very traits
that were so transitory, might have taught us
much that would be worth knowing and remem-
bering !

Would, at least, that either painter or mirror
could convey to us some faint idea of a gar-
ment, already noticed in this legend, — the
Lady Eleanore's embroidered mantle, — which
the gossips whispered was invested with magic
properties, so as to lend a new and untried grace
to her figure each time that she put it on !
Idle fancy as it is, this mysterious mantle has
55

TWICE-TOLD TALES

thrown an awe around my image of her, partly
from its fabled virtues, and partly because it
was the handiwork of a dying woman, and,
perchance, owed the fantastic grace of its con-
ception to the delirium of approaching death.

After the ceremonial greetings had been paid.
Lady Eleanore RochclifFe stood apart from the
mob of guests, insulating herself within a small
and distinguished circle, to whom she accorded a
more cordial favor than to the general throng.
The waxen torches threw their radiance vividly
over the scene, bringing out its brilliant points
in strong relief; but she gazed carelessly, and
with now and then an expression of weariness
or scorn, tempered with such feminine grace
that her auditors scarcely perceived the moral
deformity of which it was the utterance. She
beheld the spectacle not with vulgar ridicule,
as disdaining to be pleased with the provincial
mockery of a court festival, but with the deeper
scorn of one whose spirit held itself too high to
participate in the enjoyment of other human
souls. Whether or no the recollections of those
who saw her that evening were influenced by the
strange events with which she was subsequently
connected, so it was that her figure ever after
recurred to them as marked by something wild
and unnatural, — although at the time the
general whisper was of her exceeding beauty,
and of the indescribable charm which her man-

56

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

tie threw around her. Some close observers,
indeed, detected a feverish flush and alternate
paleness of countenance, with a corresponding
flow and revulsion of spirits, and once or twice
a painful and helpless betrayal of lassitude, as
if she were on the point of sinking to the
ground. Then, with a nervous shudder, she
seemed to arouse her energies, and threw some
bright and playful yet half-wicked sarcasm into
the conversation. There was so strange a
characteristic in her manners and sentiments
that it astonished every right-minded listener ;
till looking in her face, a lurking and incom-
prehensible glance and smile perplexed them
with doubts both as to her seriousness and
sanity. Gradually, Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe's
circle grew smaller, till only four gentlemen re-
mained in it. These were Captain Langford,
the English officer before mentioned ; a Virgin-
ian planter, who had come to Massachusetts
on some political errand ; a young Episcopal
clergyman, the grandson of a British earl ; and,
lastly, the private secretary of Governor Shute,
whose obsequiousness had won a sort of toler-
ance from Lady Eleanore.

At different periods of the evening, the liv-
eried servants of the Province House passed
among the guests, bearing huge trays of refresh-
ments and French and Spanish wines. Lady
Eleanore Rochcliff^e, who refused to wet her
57

TWICE-TOLD TALES

beautiful lips even with a bubble of champagne,
had sunk back into a large damask chair, appar-
ently overwearied either with the excitement
of the scene or its tedium, and while, for an
instant, she was unconscious of voices, laughter,
and music, a young man stole forward, and
knelt down at her feet. He bore a salver in
his hand, on which was a chased silver goblet,
filled to the brim with wine, which he offered
as reverentially as to a crowned queen, or rather
with the awful devotion of a priest doing sac-
rifice to his idol. Conscious that some one
touched her robe. Lady Eleanore started, and
unclosed her eyes upon the pale, wild features
and dishevelled hair of Jervase Helwyse.

" Why do you haunt me thus ? " said she
in a languid tone, but with a kindlier feeling
than she ordinarily permitted herself to express.
"They tell me that I have done you harm."

" Heaven knows if that be so,'* replied the
young man solemnly. " But, Lady Eleanore,
in requital of that harm, if such there be, and
for your own earthly and heavenly welfare, I
pray you to take one sip of this holy wine, and
then to pass the goblet round among the guests.
And this shall be a symbol that you have not
sought to withdraw yourself from the chain of
human sympathies — which whoso would shake
off must keep company with fallen angels."

"Where has this mad fellow stolen that sac-
58

One sip of this holy wine''''

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

ramental vessel?" exclaimed the Episcopal cler-
gyman.

This question drew the notice of the guests
to the silver cup, which was recognized as ap-
pertaining to the communion plate of the Old
South Church ; and, for aught that could be
known, it was brimming over with the conse-
crated wine.

" Perhaps it is poisoned," half whispered the
Governor's secretary.

" Pour it down the villain's throat ! " cried
the Virginian fiercely.

" Turn him out of the house ! " cried Captain
Langford, seizing Jervase Helwyse so roughly
by the shoulder that the sacramental cup was
overturned, and its contents sprinkled upon
Lady Eleanore's mantle. " Whether knave,
fool, or Bedlamite, it is intolerable that the fel-
low should go at large."

" Pray, gentlemen, do my poor admirer no
harm," said Lady Eleanore with a faint and
weary smile. " Take him out of my sight, if
such be your pleasure ; for I can find in my
heart to do nothing but laugh at him ; whereas,
in all decency and conscience, it would become
me to weep for the mischief I have wrought ! "

But while the bystanders were attempting to
lead away the unfortunate young man, he broke
from them, and with a wild, impassioned ear-
nestness, offered a new and equally strange peti-
59

TWICE-TOLD TALES

tion to Lady Eleanore. It was no other than
that she should throw off the mantle, which,
while he pressed the silver cup of wine upon
her, she had drawn more closely around her
form, so as almost to shroud herself within it.

" Cast it from you ! " exclaimed Jervase Hel-
wyse, clasping his hands in an agony of en-
treaty. "It may not yet be too late ! Give the
accursed garment to the flames ! "

But Lady Eleanore, with a laugh of scorn,
drew the rich folds of the embroidered mantle
over her head, in such a fashion as to give a
completely new aspect to her beautiful face,
which — half hidden, half revealed — seemed
to belong to some being of mysterious charac-
ter and purposes.

"Farewell, Jervase Helwyse!" said she.
" Keep my image in your remembrance, as you
behold it now."

" Alas, lady ! " he replied, in a tone no
longer wild, but sad as a funeral bell. " We
must meet shortly, when your face may wear
another aspect — and that shall be the image
that must abide within me."

He made no more resistance to the violent
efforts of the gentlemen and servants, who
almost dragged him out of the apartment, and
dismissed him roughly from the iron gate of
the Province House. Captain Langford, who
had been very active in this affair, was return-
60

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

ing to the presence of Lady Eleanore Roch-
clifFe, when he encountered the physician. Dr.
Clarke, with whom he had held some casual
talk on the day of her arrival. The Doctor
stood apart, separated from Lady Eleanore by
the width of the room, but eyeing her with
such keen sagacity that Captain Langford in-
voluntarily gave him credit for the discovery
of some deep secret.

" You appear to be smitten, after all, with
the charms of this queenly maiden," said he,
hoping thus to draw forth the physician's hid-
den knowledge.

" God forbid ! " answered Dr. Clarke with a
grave smile ; " and if you be wise, you will put
up the same prayer for yourself. Woe to those
who shall be smitten by this beautiful Lady
Eleanore ! But yonder stands the Governor
— and I have a word or two for his private
ear. Good-night ! "

He accordingly advanced to Governor Shute,
and addressed him in so low a tone that none
of the bystanders could catch a word of what
he said, although the sudden change of his Ex-
cellency's hitherto cheerful visage betokened
that the communication could be of no agree-
able import. A very few moments afterwards
it was announced to the guests that an unfore-
seen circumstance rendered it necessary to put
a premature close to the festival.
6i

TWICE-TOLD TALES

The ball at the Province House supplied a
topic of conversation for the colonial metropo-
lis for some days after its occurrence, and might
still longer have been the general theme, only
that a subject of all-engrossing interest thrust
it, for a time, from the public recollection.
This was the appearance of a dreadful epidemic,
which, in that age and long before and after-
wards, was wont to slay its hundreds and thou-
sands on both sides of the Atlantic. On the
occasion of which we. speak, it was distinguished
by a peculiar virulence, insomuch that it has
left its traces — its pit-marks, to use an appro-
priate figure — on the history of the country,
the affairs of which were thrown into confusion
by its ravages. At first, unlike its ordinary
course, the disease seemed to confine itself to
the higher circles of society, selecting its victims
from among the proud, the well-born, and the
wealthy, entering unabashed into stately cham-
bers, and lying down with the slumberers in
silken beds. Some of the most distinguished
guests of the Province House — even those
whom the haughty Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe
had deemed not unworthy of her favor — were
stricken by this fatal scourge. It was noticed,
with an ungenerous bitterness of feeling, that
the four gentlemen — the Virginian, the Brit-
ish officer, the young clergyman, and the Gov-
ernor's secretary — who had been her most
62

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

devoted attendants on the evening of the ball,
were the foremost on whom the plague stroke
fell. But the disease, pursuing its onward pro-
gress, soon ceased to be exclusively a preroga-
tive of aristocracy. Its red brand was no longer
conferred like a noble's star, or an order of
knighthood. It threaded its way through the
narrow and crooked streets, and entered the
low, mean, darksome dwellings, and laid its
hand of death upon the artisans and labor-
ing classes of the town. It compelled rich and
poor to feel themselves brethren then ; and
stalking to and fro across the Three Hills, with
a fierceness which made it almost a new pesti-
lence, there was that mighty conqueror — that
scourge and horror of our forefathers — the
Small-Pox !

We cannot estimate the affright which this
plague inspired of yore by contemplating it
as the fangless monster of the present day.
We must remember, rather, with what awe we
watched the gigantic footsteps of the Asiatic
cholera, striding from shore to shore of the At-
lantic, and marching like destiny upon cities
far remote which flight had already half depop-
ulated. There is no other fear so horrible and
unhumanizing as that which makes man dread
to breathe heaven's vital air lest it be poison,
or to grasp the hand of a brother or friend lest
the gripe of the pestilence should clutch him.

63

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Such was the dismay that now followed in the
track of the disease, or ran before it throughout
the town. Graves were hastily dug, and the
pestilential relics as hastily covered, because
the dead were enemies of the living, and strove
to draw them headlong, as it were, into their
own dismal pit. The public councils were sus-
pended, as if mortal wisdom might relinquish
its devices, now that an unearthly usurper had
found his way into the ruler's mansion. Had
an enemy's fleet been hovering on the coast,
or his armies trampling on our soil, the people
would probably have committed their defence
to that same direful conqueror who had wrought
their own calamity, and would permit no inter-
ference with his sway. This conqueror had a
symbol of his triumphs. It was a blood-red
flag, that fluttered in the tainted air, over the
door of every dwelling into which the Small-
Pox had entered.

Such a banner was long since waving over the
portal of the Province House ; for- thence, as
was proved by tracking its footsteps back, had
all this dreadful mischief issued. It had been
traced back to a lady's luxurious chamber — to
the proudest of the proud — to her that was so
delicate, and hardly owned herself of earthly
mould — to the • haughty one, who took her
stand above human sympathies — to Lady El-
eanore ! There remained no room for doubt that

64

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

the contagion had lurked in that gorgeous man-
tle, which threw so strange a grace around her
at the festival. Its fantastic splendor had been
conceived in the delirious brain of a woman on
her death-bed, and was the last toil of her stif-
fening fingers, which had interwoven fate and
misery with its golden threads. This dark tale,
whispered at first, was now bruited far and wide.
The people raved against the Lady Eleanore,
and cried out that her pride and scorn had
evoked a fiend, and that, between them both, this
monstrous evil had been born. At times, their
rage and despair took the semblance of grin^
ning mirth ; and whenever the red flag of the
pestilence was hoisted over another and yet
another door, they clapped their hands and
shouted through the streets, in bitter mock-
ery : " Behold a new triumph for the Lady
Eleanore ! "

One day, in the midst of these dismal times,
a wild figure approached the portal of the Pro-
vince House, and folding his arms, stood con-
templating the scarlet banner which a passing
breeze shook fitfully, as if to fling abroad the
contagion that it typified. At length, climbing
one of the pillars by means of the iron balus-
trade, he took down the flag and entered the
mansion, waving it above his head. At the foot
of the staircase he met the Governor, booted
and spurred, with his cloak drawn around him,

65

TWICE-TOLD TALES

evidently on the point of setting forth upon a
journey.

" Wretched lunatic, what do you seek here ? "
exclaimed Shute, extending his cane to guard
himself from contact. " There is nothing here
but Death. Back — or you will meet him !"

" Death will not touch me, the banner-bearer
of the pestilence ! " cried Jervase Helwyse,
shaking the red flag aloft. " Death, and the
Pestilence, who wears the aspect of the Lady
Eleanore, will walk through the streets to-
night, and I must march before them with this
banner ! "

" Why do I waste words on the fellow ? "
muttered the Governor, drawing his cloak across
his mouth. " What matters his miserable life,
when none of us are sure of twelve hours'
breath ? On, fool, to your own destruction ! "

He made way for Jervase Helwyse, who
immediately ascended the staircase, but, on the
first landing-place, was arrested by the firm
grasp of a hand upon his shoulder. Looking
fiercely up, with a madman's impulse to strug-
gle with and rend asunder his opponent, he
found himself powerless beneath a calm, stern
eye, which possessed the mysterious property
of quelling frenzy at its height. The person
whom he had now encountered was the phy-
sician. Dr. Clarke, the duties of whose sad pro-
fession had led him to the Province House,
66

I

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

where he was an infrequent guest in more pros-
perous times.

" Young man, what is your purpose ? " de-
manded he.

" I seek the Lady Eleanore," answered Jer-
vase Helwyse submissively.

" All have fled from her," said the physician.
" Why do you seek her now ? I tell you,
youth, her nurse fell death-stricken on the
threshold of that fatal chamber. Know ye not,
that never came such a curse to our shores as
this lovely Lady Eleanore ? — that her breath
has filled the air with poison ? — that she has
shaken pestilence and death upon the land,
from the folds of her accursed mantle ? "

" Let me look upon her ! ** rejoined the mad
youth more wildly. " Let me behold her, in
her awful beauty, clad in the regal garments
of the pestilence ! She and Death sit on a
throne together. Let me. kneel down before
them ! "

' " Poor youth ! " said Dr. Clarke ; and,
moved by a deep sense of human weakness, a
smile of caustic humor curled his lip even then.
" Wilt thou still worship the destroyer and sur-
round her image with fantasies the more mag-
nificent, the more evil she has wrought r Thus
man doth ever to his tyrants. Approach, then !
Madness, as I have noted, has that good effi-
cacy, that it will guard you from contagion —

67

TWICE-TOLD TALES

and perchance its own cure may be found in
yonder chamber."

Ascending another flight of stairs, he threw
open a door and signed to Jervase Helwyse that
he should enter. The poor lunatic, it seems
probable, had cherished a delusion that his
haughty mistress sat in state, unharmed herself
by the pestilential influence, which, as by en-
chantment, she scattered round about her. He
dreamed, no doubt, that her beauty was not
dimmed, but brightened into superhuman splen-
dor. With such anticipations, he stole rever-
entially to ■ the door at which the physician
stood, but paused upon the threshold, gazing
fearfully into the gloom of the darkened cham-
ber.

" Where is the Lady Eleanore ? '' whispered
he.

" Call her," replied the physician.

" Lady Eleanore ! — Princess ! — Queen of
Death ! " cried Jervase Helwyse, advancing
three steps into the chamber. " She is not
here ! There, on yonder table, I behold the
sparkle of a diamond which once she wore upon
her bosom. There " — and he shuddered —
" there hangs her mantle, on which a dead
woman embroidered a spell of dreadful potency.
But where is the Lady Eleanore ? "

Something stirred within the silken curtains
68

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

of a canopied bed ; and a low moan was uttered,
which, listening intently, Jervase Helwyse be-
gan to distinguish as a woman's voice, complain-
ing dolefully of thirst. He fancied, even, that
he recognized its tones.

" My throat ! — my throat is scorched,"
murmured the voice. " A drop of water ! "

" What thing art thou ? '* said the brain-
stricken youth, drawing near the bed and tear-
ing asunder its curtains. " Whose voice hast
thou stolen for thy murmurs and miserable peti-
tions, as if Lady Eleanore could be conscious
of mortal infirmity ? Fie ! Heap of diseased
mortality, why lurkest thou in my lady's cham-
ber ? "

" O Jervase Helwyse," said the voice, — and
as it spoke the figure contorted itself, struggling
to hide its blasted face, — " look not now on the
woman you once loved ! The curse of Heaven
hath stricken me, because I would not call man
my brother, nor woman sister. I wrapped my-
self in PRIDE as in a mantle, and scorned the
sympathies of nature ; and therefore has nature
made this wretched body the medium of a dread-
ful sympathy. You are avenged — they are all
avenged — Nature is avenged — for I am El-
eanore Rochcliife ! "

The malice of his mental disease, the bitter-
ness lurking at the bottom of his heart, mad as

69

TWICE-TOLD TALES

he was, for a blighted and ruined life, and love
that had been paid with cruel scorn, awoke
within the breast of Jervase Helwyse. He
shook his finger at the wretched girl, and the
chamber echoed, the curtains of the bed were
shaken, with his outburst of insane merri-
ment.

" Another triumph for the Lady Eleanore ! '*
he cried. " All have been her victims ! Who
so worthy to be the final victim as herself? "

Impelled by some new fantasy of his crazed
intellect, he snatched the fatal mantle and rushed
from the chamber and the house. That night
a procession passed, by torchlight, through the
streets, bearing in the midst the figure of a wo-
man, enveloped with a richly embroidered man-
tle ; while in advance stalked Jervase Helwyse,
waving the red flag of the pestilence. Arriving
opposite the Province House, the mob burned
the effigy, and a strong wind came and swept
away the ashes. It was said that, from that very
hour, the pestilence abated, as if its sway had
some mysterious connection, from the first
plague stroke to the last, with Lady Eleanore's
Mantle. A remarkable uncertainty broods over
that unhappy lady's fate. There is a belief,
however, that in a certain chamber of this man-
sion a female form may sometimes be duskily
discerned, shrinking into the darkest corner and

70

LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

muffling her face within an embroidered mantle.
Supposing the legend true, can this be other
than the once proud Lady Eleanore ?

Mine host and the old loyalist and I be-
stowed no little warmth of applause upon this
narrative, in which we had all been deeply
interested ; for the reader can scarcely conceive
how unspeakably the effect of such a tale is
heightened when, as in the present case, we may
repose perfect confidence in the veracity of him
who tells it. For my own part, knowing how
scrupulous is Mr. Tiffany to settle the founda-
tion of his facts, I could not have believed him
one whit the more faithfully had he professed
himself an eye-witness of the doings and suffer-
ings of poor Lady Eleanore. Some sceptics, it
is true, might demand documentary evidence,
or even require him to produce the embroidered
mantle, forgetting that — Heaven be praised —
it was consumed to ashes. But now the old
loyalist, whose blood was warmed by the good
cheer, began to talk, in his turn, about the tra-
ditions of the Province House, and hinted that
he, if it were agreeable, might add a few remi-
niscences to our legendary stock. Mr. Tiffany,
having no cause to dread a rival, immediately
besought him to favor us with a specimen ; my

71

TWICE-TOLD TALES

own entreaties, of course, were urged to the
same effect; and our venerable guest, well
pleased to find willing auditors, awaited only
the return of Mr. Thomas Waite, who had
been summoned forth to provide accommoda-
tions for several new arrivals. Perchance the
public — but be this as its own caprice and ours
shall settle the matter — may read the result in
another Tale of the Province House.

72

IV

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

OUR host having resumed the chair, he,
as well as Mr. Tiffany and myself, ex-
pressed much eagerness to be made
acquainted with the story to which the loyalist
had alluded. That venerable man first of all
saw fit to moisten his throat with another glass
of wine, and then, turning his face towards our
coal fire, looked steadfastly for a few moments
into the depths of its cheerful glow. Finally,
he poured forth a great fluency of speech. The
generous liquid that he had imbibed, while it
warmed his age-chilled blood, likewise took off
the chill from his heart and mind, and gave him
an energy to think and feel which we could
hardly have expected to find beneath the snows
of fourscore winters. His feelings, indeed,
appeared to me more excitable than those of a
younger man ; or at least, the same degree of
feeling manifested itself by more visible effects
than if his judgment and will had possessed the
potency of meridian life. At the pathetic pas-
sages of his narrative, he readily melted into tears.
When a breath of indignation swept across his
11

TWICE-TOLD TALES

spirit, the blood flushed his withered visage even
to the roots of his white hair ; and he shook
his clenched fist at the trio of peaceful auditors,
seeming to fancy enemies in those who felt very
kindly towards the desolate old soul. But ever
and anon, sometimes in the midst of his most
earnest talk, this ancient person's intellect would
wander vaguely, losing its hold of the matter in
hand, and groping for it amid misty shadows.
Then would he cackle forth a feeble laugh, and
express a doubt whether his wits — for by that
phrase it pleased our ancient friend to signify
his mental powers — were not getting a little
the worse for wear.

Under these disadvantages, the old loyalist's
story required more revision to render it fit for
the public eye than those of the series which
have preceded it ; nor should it be concealed
that the sentiment and tone of the affair may
have undergone some slight, or perchance more
than slight, metamorphosis, in its transmission
to the reader through the medium of a thor-
oughgoing democrat. The tale itself is a mere
sketch, with no involution of plot, nor any
great interest of events, yet possessing, if I
have rehearsed it aright, that pensive influence
over the mind which the shadow of the old
Province House flings upon the loiterer in its
court-yard. '

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

The hour had come — the hour of defeat and
humiliation — when Sir William Howe was to
pass over the threshold of the Province House,
and embark, with no such triumphal ceremonies
as he once promised himself, on board the Brit-
ish fleet. He bade his servants and military-
attendants go before him, and lingered a mo-
ment in the loneliness of the mansion, to quell
the fierce emotions that struggled in his bosom
as with a death throb. Preferable, then, would
he have deemed his fate, had a warrior's death
left him a claim to the narrow territory of a
grave within the soil which the King had given
him to defend. With an ominous perception
that, as his departing footsteps echoed adown
the staircase, the sway of Britain was passing for-
ever from New England, he smote his clenched
hand on his brow, and cursed the destiny that
had flung the shame of a dismembered empire
upon him.

" Would to God," cried he, hardly repress-
ing his tears of rage, " that the rebels were even
now at the doorstep ! A blood-stain upon the
floor should then bear testimony that the last
British ruler was faithful to his trust."

The tremulous voice of a woman replied to
his exclamation.

" Heaven's cause and the King's are one,"
it said. " Go forth. Sir William Howe, and

75

TWICE-TOLD TALES

trust in Heaven to bring back a Royal Gov-
ernor in triumph."

Subduing at once the passion to which hr
had yielded only in the faith that it was unwit-
nessed. Sir William Howe became conscious
that an aged woman, leaning on a gold-headed
staff, was standing betwixt him and the door.
It was old Esther Dudley, who had dwelt al-
most immemorial years in this mansion, until
her presence seemed as inseparable from it as
the recollections of its history. She was the
daughter of an ancient and once eminent fam-
ily, which had fallen into poverty and decay,
and left its last descendant no resource save the
bounty of the King, nor any shelter except
within the walls of the Province House. An
office in the household, with merely nominal
duties, had been assigned to her as a pretext for
the payment of a small pension, the greater part
of which she expended in adorning herself with
an antique magnificence of attire. The claims
of Esther Dudley's gentle blood were acknow-
ledged by all the successive Governors ; and
they treated her with the punctilious courtesy
which it was her foible to demand, not always
with success, from a neglectful world. The only
actual share which she assumed in the business
of the mansion was to glide through its passages
and public chambers, late at night, to see that
the servants had dropped no fire from their flar-

76

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

ing torches, nor left embers crackling and blaz-
ing on the hearths. Perhaps it was this inva-
riable custom of walking her rounds in the hush
of midnight that caused the superstition of the
times to invest the old woman with attributes
of awe and mystery ; fabling that she had en-
tered the portal of the Province House, none
knew whence, in the train of the first Royal Gov-
ernor, and that it was her fate to dwell there till
the last should have departed. But Sir William
Howe, if he ever heard this legend, had forgot-
ten it.

" Mistress Dudley, why are you loitering
here ? " asked he, with some severity of tone.
" It is my pleasure to be the last in this man-
sion of the King."

" Not so, if it please your Excellency," an-
swered the time-stricken woman. " This roof
has sheltered me long. I will not pass from it
until they bear me to the tomb of my fore-
fathers. What other shelter is there for old
Esther Dudley, save the Province House or
the grave ? "

" Now Heaven forgive me ! " said Sir Wil-
liam Howe to himself. " I was about to leave
this wretched old creature to starve or beg.
Take this, good Mistress Dudley," he added,
putting a purse into her hands. " King George's
head on these golden guineas is sterling yet, and
will continue so, I warrant you, even should the
11

TWICE-TOLD TALES

rebels crown John Hancock their king. That
purse will buy a better shelter than the Pro-
vince House can now afford."

" While the burden of life remains upon me,
I will have no other shelter than this roof/*
persisted Esther Dudley, striking her staff upon
the floor with a gesture that expressed immov-
able resolve. " And when your Excellency
returns in triumph, I will totter into the porch
to welcome you."

" My poor old friend ! " answered the Brit-
ish General, — and all his manly and martial
pride could no longer restrain a gush of bitter
tears. " This is an evil hour for you and me.
The Province which the King intrusted to my
charge is lost, I go hence in misfortune — per-
chance in disgrace — to return no more. And
you, whose present being is incorporated with
the past — who have seen Governor after Gov-
ernor, in stately pageantry, ascend these steps

— whose whole life has been an observance of
majestic ceremonies, and a worship of the King

— how will you endure the change ? Come
with us ! Bid farewell to a land that has shaken
off its allegiance, and live still under a royal
government, at Halifax."

" Never, never ! " said the pertinacious old
dame. " Here will I abide ; and King George
shall still have one true subject in his disloyal
Province."

78

I

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

" Beshrew the old fool ! " muttered Sir Wil-
liam Howe, growing impatient of her obsti-
nacy, and ashamed of the emotion into which he
had been betrayed. " She is the very moral
of old-fashioned prejudice, and could exist no-
where but in this musty edifice. Well, then.
Mistress Dudley, since you will needs tarry, I
give the Province House in charge to you.
Take this key, and keep it safe until myself, or
some other Royal Governor, shall demand it
of you.'*

Smiling bitterly at himself and her, he took
the heavy key of the Province House, and de-
livering it into the old lady's hands, drew his
cloak around him for departure. As the Gen-
eral glanced back at Esther Dudley's antique
figure, he deemed her well fitted for such a
charge, as being so perfect a representative of
the decayed past — of an age gone by, with its
manners, opinions, faith, and feelings, all fallen
into oblivion or scorn — of what had once been
a reality, but was now merely a vision of faded
magnificence. Then Sir William Howe strode
forth, smiting his clenched hands together, in
the fierce anguish of his spirit ; and old Esther
Dudley was left to keep watch in the lonely
Province House, dwelling there with memory ;
and if Hope ever seemed to flit around her,
still was it Memory in disguise.

The total change of afl^airs that ensued on the
79

TWICE-TOLD TALES

departure of the British troops did not drive
the venerable lady from her stronghold. There
was not, for many years afterwards, a Governor
of Massachusetts ; and the magistrates, who had
charge of such matters, saw no objection to Es-
ther Dudley's residence in the Province House,
especially as they must otherwise have paid a
hireling for taking care of the premises, which
with her was a labor of love. And so they left
her the undisturbed mistress of the old historic
edifice. Many and strange were the fables which
the gossips whispered about her, in all the chim-
ney-corners of the town. Among the time-worn
articles of furniture that had been left in the man-
sion there was a tall, antique mirror, which was
well worthy of a tale by itself, and perhaps may
hereafter be the theme of one. The gold of
its heavily wrought frame was tarnished, and its
surface so blurred, that the old woman's figure,
whenever she paused before it, looked indistinct
and ghost-like. But it was the general belief
that Esther could cause the Governors of the
overthrown dynasty, with the beautiful ladies
who had once adorned their festivals, the In-
dian chiefs who had come up to the Province
House to hold council or swear allegiance, the
grim Provincial warriors, the severe clergymen
— in short, all the pageantry of gone days —
all the figures that ever swept across the broad
plate of glass in former times — she could cause
80

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

the whole to reappear, and people the inner
world of the mirror with shadows of old life.
Such legends as these, together with the singu-
larity of her isolated existence, her age, and the
infirmity that each added winter flung upon her,
made Mistress Dudley the object both of fear
and pity ; and it was partly the result of either
sentiment that, amid all the angry license of the
times, neither wrong nor insult ever fell upon
her unprotected head. Indeed, there was so
much haughtiness in her demeanor towards in-
truders, among whom she reckoned all persons
acting under the new authorities, that it was
really an affair of no small nerve to look her in
the face. And to do the people justice, stern
republicans as they had now become, they were
well content that the old gentlewoman, in her
hoop petticoat and faded embroidery, should
still haunt the palace of ruined pride and over-
thrown power, the symbol of a departed sys-
tem, embodying a history in her person. So
Esther Dudley dwelt year after year in the Pro-
vince House, still reverencing all that others
had flung aside, still faithful to her King, who,
so long as the venerable dame yet held her post,
might be said to retain one true subject in New
England, and one spot of the empire that had
been wrested from him.

And did she dwell there in utter loneliness ?
Rumor said, not so. Whenever her chill and
8i

TWICE-TOLD TALES

withered heart desired warmth, she was wont to
summon a black slave of Governor Shirley's
from the blurred mirror, and send him in search
of guests who had long ago been familiar in those
deserted chambers. Forth went the sable mes-
senger, with the starlight or the moonshine
gleaming through him, and did his errand in the
burial ground, knocking at the iron doors of
tombs, or upon the marble slabs that covered
them, and whispering to those within : " My
mistress, old Esther Dudley, bids you to the
Province House at midnight." And punctu-
ally as the clock of the Old South told twelve
came the shadows of the Olivers, the Hutchin-
sons, the Dudleys, all the grandees of a bygone
generation, gliding beneath the portal into the
well-known mansion, where Esther mingled
with them -as if she likewise were a shade.
Without vouching for the truth of such tradi-
tions, it is certain that Mistress Dudley some-
times assembled a few of the stanch, though
crestfallen, old tories, who had lingered in the
rebel town during those days of wrath and trib-
ulation. Out of a cobwebbed bottle, contain-
ing liquor that a royal Governor might have
smacked his lips over, they quaffed healths to
the King, and babbled treason to the Republic,
feeling as if the protecting shadow of the throne
were still flung around them. But, draining the
last drops of their liquor, they stole timorously
82

\

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

homeward, and answered not again if the rude
mob reviled them in the street.

Yet Esther Dudley's most frequent and fa-
vored guests were the children of the town.
Towards them she was never stern. A kindly
and loving nature, hindered elsewhere from its
free course by a thousand rocky prejudices, lav-
ished itself upon these little ones. By bribes
of gingerbread of her own making, stamped
with a royal crown, she tempted their sunny
sportiveness beneath the gloomy portal of the
Province House, and would often beguile them
to spend a whole play-day there, sitting in a
circle round the verge of her hoop petticoat,
greedily attentive to her stories of a dead world.
And when these little boys and girls stole forth
again from the dark, mysterious mansion, they
went bewildered, full of old feelings that graver
people had long ago forgotten, rubbing their
eyes at the world around them as if they had
gone astray into ancient times, and become chil-
dren of the past. At home, when their parents
asked where they had loitered such a weary
while, and with whom they had been at play,
the children would talk of all the departed wor-
thies of the Province, as far back as Governor
Belcher and the haughty dame of Sir William
Phipps. It would seem as though they had
been sitting on the knees of these famous per-
sonages, whom the grave had hidden for half a

83

TWICE-TOLD TALES

century, and had toyed with the embroidery
of their rich waistcoats, or roguishly pulled the
long curls of their flowing wigs. " But Gov-
ernor Belcher has been dead this many a year,"
would the mother say to her little boy. " And
did you really see him at the Province House ? "
" Oh, yes, dear mother ! yes ! " the half-dream-
ing child would answer. " But when old Esther
had done speaking about him, he faded away
out of his chair." Thus, without affrighting her
little guests, she led them by the hand into
the chambers of her own desolate heart, and
made childhood*s fancy discern the ghosts that
haunted there.

Living so continually in her own circle of
ideas, and never regulating her mind by a proper
reference to present things, Esther Dudley ap-
pears to have grown partially crazed. It was
found that she had no right sense of the pro-
gress and true state of the Revolutionary War,
but held a constant faith that the armies of
Britain were victorious on every field, and des-
tined to be ultimately triumphant. Whenever
the town rejoiced for a battle won by Washing-
ton, or Gates, or Morgan, or Greene, the news,
in passing through the door of the Province
House, as through the ivory gate of dreams,
became metamorphosed into a strange tale of
the prowess of Howe, Clinton, or Cornwallis.
Sooner or later it was her invincible belief the

84

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

colonies would be prostrate at the footstool of
the King. Sometimes she seemed to take for
granted that such was already the case. On
one occasion, she startled the townspeople by
a brilliant illumination of the Province House,
with candles at every pane of glass, and a trans-
parency of the King's initials and a crown of
Hght in the great balcony window. The figure
of the aged woman in the most gorgeous of her
mildewed velvets and brocades was seen pass-
ing from casement to casement, until she paused
before the balcony, and flourished a huge key
above her head. Her wrinkled visage actually
gleamed with triumph, as if the soul within her
were a festal lamp.

" What means this blaze of light ? What
does old Esther's joy portend ? " whispered a
spectator. " It is frightful to see her gliding
about the chambers, and rejoicing there without
a soul to bear her company."

" It is as if she were making merry in a
tomb," said another.

" Pshaw ! It is no such mystery," observed
an old man, after some brief exercise of memory.
" Mistress Dudley is keeping jubilee for the
King of England's birthday."

Then the people laughed aloud, and would
have thrown mud against the blazing transpar-
ency of the King's crown and initials, only that
they pitied the poor old dame, who was so dis-
8s

TWICE-TOLD TALES

mally triumphant amid the wreck and ruin of
the system to which she appertained.

Oftentimes it- was her custom to climb the
weary staircase that wound upward to the cu-
pola, and thence strain her dimmed eyesight
seaward and countryward, watching for a Brit-
ish fleet, or for the march of a grand procession,
with the King's banner floating over it. The
passengers in the street below would discern
her anxious visage, and send up a shout, " When
the golden Indian on the Province House shall
shoot his arrow, and when the cock on the Old
South spire shall crow, then look for a Royal
Governor again ! " — for this had grown a by-
word through the town. And at last, after
long, long years, old Esther Dudley knew, or
perchance she only dreamed, that a Royal Gov-
ernor was on the eve of returning to the Pro-
vince House, to receive the heavy key which
Sir William Howe had committed to her charge.
Now it was the fact that intelligence bearing
some faint analogy to Esther's version of it was
current among the townspeople. She set the
mansion in the best order that her means
allowed, and, arraying herself in silks and tar-
nished gold, stood long before the blurred mir-
ror to admire her own magnificence. As she
gazed, the gray and withered lady moved her
ashen lips, murmuring half aloud, talking to
shapes that she saw within the mirror, to shad-

86

\

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

ows of her own fantasies, to the household
friends of memory, and bidding them rejoice
with her and come forth to meet the Governor.
And while absorbed in this communion. Mis-
tress Dudley heard the tramp of many footsteps
in the street, and, looking out at the window,
beheld what she construed as the Royal Gov-
ernor's arrival.

" O happy day ! O blessed, blessed hour ! "
she exclaimed. " Let me but bid him welcome
within the portal, and my task in the Province
House, and on earth, is done ! "

Then with tottering feet, which age and trem-
ulous joy caused to tread amiss, she hurried
down the grand staircase, her silks sweeping and
rustling as she went, so that the sound was as
if a train of spectral courtiers were thronging
from the dim mirror. And Esther Dudley
fancied that as soon as the wide door should be
flung open, all the pomp and splendor of by-
gone times would pace majestically into the
Province House, and the gilded tapestry of the
past would be brightened by the sunshine of
the present. She turned the key — withdrew
it from the lock — unclosed the door — and
stepped across the threshold. Advancing up
the court-yard appeared a person of most dig-
nified mien, with tokens, as Esther interpreted
them, of gentle blood, high rank, and long-ac-
customed authority, even in his walk and every

. 87

TWICE-TOLD TALES

gesture. He was richly dressed, but wore a
gouty shoe, which, however, did not lessen the
stateliness of his gait. Around and behind him
were people in plain civic dresses, and two or
three war-worn veterans, evidently officers of
rank, arrayed in a uniform of blue and buff.
But Esther Dudley, firm in the belief that had
fastened its roots about her heart, beheld only
the principal personage, and never doubted that
this was the long-looked- for Governor, to whom
she was to surrender up her charge. As he ap-
proached, she involuntarily sank down on her
knees, and tremblingly held forth the heavy
key.

" Receive my trust ! take it quickly ! " cried
she ; " for methinks Death is striving to snatch
away my triumph. But he comes too late.
Thank Heaven for this blessed hour ! God
save King George ! "

" That, Madam, is a strange prayer to be
offered up at such a moment," replied the un-
known guest of the Province House, and cour-
teously removing his hat, he offered his arm to
raise the aged woman. " Yet, in reverence for
your gray hairs and long-kept faith. Heaven
forbid that any here should say you nay. Over
the realms which still acknowledge his sceptre,
God save King George ! *'

Esther Dudley started to her feet, and has-
tily clutching back the key, gazed with fearful
88

I

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

earnestness at the stranger ; and dimly and
doubtfully, as if suddenly awakened from a
dream, her bewildered eyes half recognized his
face. Years ago she had known him among
the gentry of the province. But the ban of the
King had fallen upon him ! How, then, came
the doomed victim here ? Proscribed, excluded
from mercy, the monarch's most dreaded and
hated foe, this New England merchant had stood
triumphantly against a kingdom's strength ; and
his foot now trod upon humbled Royalty, as he
ascended the steps of the Province House, the
people's chosen Governor of Massachusetts.

" Wretch, wretch that I am ! " muttered the
old woman, with such a heart-broken expression
that the tears gushed from the stranger's eyes.
" Have I bidden a traitor welcome ? Come,
Death ! come quickly ! "

" Alas, venerable lady ! " said Governor
Hancock, lending her his support with all the
reverence that a courtier would have shown to
a queen. " Your life has been prolonged until
the world has changed around you. You have
^treasured up all that time has rendered worth-
less — the principles, feelings, manners, modes
of being and acting, which another generation
has flung aside — and you are a symbol of the
past. And I, and these around me — we re-
present a new race of men — living no longer
in the past, scarcely in the present — but pro-

89

TWICE-TOLD TALES

jecting our lives forward into the future. Ceas-
ing to model ourselves on ancestral superstitions,
it is our faith and principle to press onward,
onward ! Yet,'* continued he, turning to his
attendants, " let us reverence, for the last time,
the stately and gorgeous prejudices of the tot-
tering Past ! "

While the Republican Governor spoke, he
had continued to support the helpless form of
Esther Dudley ; her weight grew heavier against
his arm ; but at last, with a sudden effort to
free herself, the ancient woman sank down be-
side one of the pillars of the portal. The key
of the Province House fell from her grasp, and
clanked against the stone.

" I have been faithful unto death," murmured
she. " God save the King ! '*

" She hath done her office ! " said Hancock
solemnly. " We will follow her reverently to
the tomb of her ancestors ; and then, my fellow
citizens, onward — onward ! We are no longer
children of the Past ! "

As the old loyalist concluded his narrative,
the enthusiasm which had been fitfully flashing
within his sunken eyes, and quivering across
his wrinkled visage, faded away, as if all the
lingering fire of his soul were extinguished. Just
then, too, a lamp upon the mantelpiece threw
90

OLD ESTHER DUDLEY

out a dying gleam, which vanished as speedily
as it shot upward, compelling our eyes to grope
for one another's features by the dim glow of
the hearth. With such a lingering fire, me-
thought, with such a dying gleam, had the glory
of the ancient system vanished from the Pro-
vince House, when the spirit of old Esther
Dudley took its flight. And now, again, the
clock of the Old South threw its voice of ages
on the breeze, knolling the hourly knell of the
Past, crying out far and wide through the multi-
tudinous city, and filling our ears, as we sat in
the dusky chamber, with its reverberating depth
of tone. In that same mansion — in that very
chamber — what a volume of history had been
told off into hours, by the same voice that was
now trembling in the air. Many a Governor
had heard those midnight accents, and longed
to exchange his stately cares for slumber. And
as for mine host and Mr. Bela TiflTany and the
old loyalist and me, we had babbled about
dreams of the past, until we almost fancied that
the clock was still striking in a bygone century.
Neither of us would have wondered had a hoop-
petticoated phantom of Esther Dudley tottered
into the chamber, walking her rounds in the
hush of midnight, as of yore, and motioned us
to quench the fading embers of the fire, and
leave the historic precincts to herself and her
kindred shades. But as no such vision was
91

TWICE-TOLD TALES

vouchsafed, I retired unbidden, and would ad-
vise Mr. Tiffany to lay hold of another audi-
tor, being resolved not to show my face in the
Province House for a good while hence — if
ever.

92

THE HAUNTED MIND

[Hawthorne records in his Note-Book under date of
1835 : "We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the mo-
ment of waking from a troubled dream : it may be so the
moment after death." This essay was published in 1835.]

What a singular moment is the first one,
when you have hardly begun to recollect your-
self, after starting from midnight slumber ? By
unclosing your eyes so suddenly, you seem to
have surprised the personages of your dream in
full convocation round your bed, and catch one
broad glance at them before they can flit into
obscurity. Or, to vary the metaphor, you find
yourself, for a single instant, wide awake in that
realm of illusions, whither sleep has been the
passport, and behold its ghostly inhabitants and
wondrous scenery, with a perception of their
strangeness such as you never attain while the
dream is undisturbed. The distant sound of a
church clock is borne faintly on the wind. You
question with yourself, half seriously, whether
it has stolen to your waking" ear from some
gray tower that stood within the precincts of
your dream. While yet in suspense, another
clock flings its heavy clang over the slumbering
93

TWICE-TOLD TALES

town, with* so full and distinct a sound, and
such a long murmur in the neighboring air,
that you are certain it must proceed from the
steeple at the nearest corner. You count the
strokes — one — two, and there they cease, with
a booming sound, like the gathering of a third
stroke within the bell.

If you could choose an hour of wakefulness
out of the whole night, it would be this. Since
your sober bedtime, at eleven, you have had
rest enough to take off the pressure of yester-
day's fatigue ; while before you, till the sun
comes from " far Cathay " to brighten your
window, there is almost the space of a summer
night ; one hour to be spent in thought, with
the mind's eye half shut, and two in pleasant
dreams, and two in that strangest of enjoyments,
the forgetfulness alike of joy and woe. The
moment of rising belongs to another period of
time, and appears so distant that the plunge out
of a warm bed into the frosty air cannot yet be
anticipated with dismay. Yesterday has already
vanished among the shadows of the past ; to-
morrow has not yet emerged from the future.
You have found an intermediate space, where
the business of life does not intrude ; where the
passing moment lingers, and becomes truly the
present ; a spot where Father Time, when he
thinks nobody is watching him, sits down by
the wayside to take breath. O, that he would
94

. THE HAUNTED MIND

fall asleep, and let mortals live on without
growing older !

Hitherto you have lain perfectly still, because
the slightest motion would dissipate the frag-
ments of your slumber. Now, being irrevo-
cably awake, you peep through the half-drawn
window-curtain, and observe that the glass is
ornamented with fanciful devices in frostwork,
and that each pane presents something like a
frozen dream. There will be time enough to
trace out the analogy while waiting the sum-
mons to breakfast. Seen through the clear
portion of the glass, where the silvery moun-
tain peaks of the frost scenery do not ascend,
the most conspicuous object is the steeple ; the
white spire of which directs you to the wintry
lustre of the firmament. You may almost dis-
tinguish the figures on the clock that has just
told the hour. Such a frosty sky, and the snow-
covered roofs, and the long vista of the frozen
street, all white, and the distant water hardened
into rock, might make you shiver, even under
four blankets and a woollen comforter. Yet
look at that one glorious star ! Its beams are
distinguishable from all the rest, and actually
cast the shadow of the casement on the bed,
with a radiance of deeper hue than moonlight,
though not so accurate an outline.

You sink down and muffle your head In the
clothes, shivering all the while, but less from
95

i

TWICE-TOLD TALES

bodily chill than the bare idea of a polar at-
mosphere. It is too cold even for the thoughts
to venture abroad. You speculate on the lux-
ury of wearing out a whole existence in bed,
like an oyster in its shell, content with the slug-
gish ecstasy of inaction, and drowsily conscious
of nothing but delicious warmth, such as you
now feel again. Ah ! that idea has brought a
hideous one in its train. You think how the
dead are lying in their cold shrouds and narrow
coffins, through the drear winter of the grave,
and cannot persuade your fancy that they nei-
ther shrink nor shiver, when the snow is drift-
ing over their little hillocks, and the bitter blast
howls against the door of the tomb. That
gloomy thought will collect a gloomy multitude,
and throw its complexion over your wakeful
hour.

In thtf depths of every heart there is a tomb
and a dungeon, though the lights, the music,
and revelry above may cause us to forget their
existence, and the buried ones, or prisoners,
whom they hide. But sometimes, and oftenest
at midnight, these dark receptacles are flung
wide open. In an hour like this, when the
mind has a passive sensibility, but no active
strength ; when the imagination is a mirror,
imparting vividness to all ideas, without the
power of selecting or controlling them ; then
pray that your griefs may slumber, and the

■ 96

THE HAUNTED MIND

brotherhood of remorse not break their chain.
It is too late ! A funeral train comes gliding by
your bed, in which Passion and Feeling assume
bodily shape, and things of the mind become
dim spectres to the eye. There is your earliest
Sorrow, a pale young mourner, wearing a sister's
likeness to first love, sadly beautiful, with a
hallowed sweetness in her melancholy features,
and grace in the flow of her sable robe. Next
appears a shade of ruined loveliness, with dust
among her golden hair, and her bright garments
all faded and defaced, stealing from your glance
with drooping head, as fearful of reproach ; she
was your fondest Hope, but a delusive one ; so
call her Disappointment now. A sterner form
succeeds, with a brow of wrinkles, a look and
gesture of iron authority ; there is no name for
him unless it be Fatality, an emblem of the
evil influence that rules your fortunes ; a demon
to whom you subjected yourself by some error
at the outset of life, and were bound his slave
forever, by once obeying him. See ! those
fiendish lineaments graven on the darkness, the
writhed lip of scorn, the mockery of that living
eye, the pointed finger, touching the sore place
in your heart ! Do you remember any act of
enormous folly at which you would blush, even
in the remotest cavern of the earth ? Then
recognize your Shame.

Pass, wretched band ! Well for the wakeful
97

TWICE-TOLD TALES

one, if, riotously miserable, a fiercer tribe do
not surround him, the devils of a guilty heart,
that holds its hell within itself. What if Re-
morse should assume the features of an injured
friend ? What if the fiend should come in
woman's garments, with a pale beauty amid sin
and desolation, and lie down by your side ?
What if he should stand at your bed's foot, in
the likeness of a corpse, with a bloody stain
upon the shroud ? Sufficient, without such guilt,
is this nightmare of the soul ; this heavy, heavy
sinking of the spirits ; this wintry gloom about
the heart; this indistinct horror of the mind,
blending itself with the darkness of the cham-
ber.

By a desperate effiDrt you start upright, break-
ing from a sort of conscious sleep, and gazing
wildly round the bed, as if the fiends were any-
where but in your haunted mind. At the same
moment, the slumbering embers on the hearth
send forth a gleam which palely illuminates the
whole outer room, and flickers through the
door of the bedchamber, but cannot quite dis-
pel its obscurity. Your eye searches for what-
ever may remind you of the living world. With
eager minuteness you take note of the table
near the fireplace, the book with an ivory knife
between its leaves, the unfolded letter, the hat,
and the fallen glove. Soon the flame vanishes,
and with it the whole scene is gone, though

98

THE HAUNTED MIND

its image remains an instant in your mind's
eye, when darkness has swallowed the reality.
Throughout the chamber there is the same
obscurity as before, but not the same gloom
within your breast. As your head falls back
upon the pillow, you think — in a whisper be it
spoken — how pleasant, in these night solitudes,
would be the rise and fall of a softer breathing
than your own, the slight pressure of a tenderer
bosom, the quiet throb of a purer heart, impart-
ing its peacefulness to your troubled one, as if
the fond sleeper were involving you in her
dream.

Her influence is over you, though she have
no existence but in that momentary image. You
sink down in a flowery spot, on the borders of
sleep and wakefulness, while your thoughts rise
before you in pictures, all disconnected, yet all
assimilated by a pervading gladsomeness and
beauty. The wheeling of gorgeous squadrons
that glitter in the sun is succeeded by the merri-
ment of children round the door of a school-
house, beneath the glimmering shadow of old
trees, at the corner of a rustic lane. You stand
in the sunny rain of a summer shower, and wan-
der among the sunny trees of an autumnal
wood, and look upward at the brightest of all
rainbows, overarching the unbroken sheet of
snow, on the American side of Niagara. Your
mind struggles pleasantly between the dancing
99

TWICE-TOLD TALES

radiance round the hearth of a young man and
his recent bride, and the twittering flight of
birds in spring about their new-made nest.
You feel the merry bounding of a ship before
the breeze, and watch the tuneful feet of rosy
girls as they twine their last and merriest dance
in a splendid ball-room, and find yourself in the
brilliant circle of a crowded theatre as the cur-
tain falls over a light and airy scene.

With an involuntary start you seize hold
on consciousness, and prove yourself but half
awake, by running a doubtful parallel between
human life and the hour which has now elapsed.
In both you emerge from mystery, pass through
a vicissitude that you can but imperfectly con-
trol, and are borne onward to another mystery.
Now comes the peal of the distant clock, with
fainter and fainter strokes as you plunge farther
into the wilderness of sleep. It is the knell of
a temporary death. Your spirit has departed,
and strays, like a free citizen, among the people
of a shadowy world, beholding strange sights,
yet without wonder or dismay. So calm, per-
haps, will be the final change ; so undisturbed,
as if among familiar things, the entrance of the
soul to its Eternal home !

100

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

AN IMAGINARY RETROSPECT

COME! another log upon the hearth.
True, our httle parlor is comfortable,
especially here, where the old man sits
in his old armchair ; but on Thanksgiving
night the blaze should dance higher up the
chimney, and send a shower of sparks into the
outer darkness. Toss on an armful of those
dry oak chips, the last relics of the Mermaid's
knee timbers, the bones of your namesake,
Susan. Higher yet, and clearer be the blaze,
till our cottage windows glow the ruddiest in
the village, and the light of our household mirth
flash far across the bay to Nahant. And now,
come, Susan, come, my children, draw your
chairs round me, all of you. There is a dim-
ness over your figures ! You sit quivering in-
distinctly with each motion of the blaze, which
eddies about you like a flood, so that you all
have the look of visions, or people that dwell
only in the firelight, and will vanish from exist-
ence as completely as your own shadows when
the flame shall sink among the embers. Hark !
let me listen for the swell of the surf ; it should

lOI

TWICE-TOLD TALES

be audible a mile inland on a night like this.
Yes ; there I catch the sound, but only an un-
certain murmur, as if a good way down over
the beach ; though, by the almanac, it is high
tide at eight o'clock, and the billows must now
be dashing within thirty yards of our door.
Ah ! the old man's ears are failing him ; and
so is his eyesight, and perhaps his mind ; else
you would not all be so shadowy in the blaze
of his Thanksgiving fire.

How strangely the past is peeping over the
shoulders of the present ! To judge by my
recollections, it is but a few moments since I
sat in another room ; yonder model of a vessel
was not there, nor the old chest of drawers, nor
Susan's profile and mine, in that gilt frame ;
nothing, in short, except this same fire, which
glimmered on books, papers, and a picture, and
half discovered my solitary figure in a looking-
glass. But it was paler than my rugged old
self, and younger, too, by almost half a cen-
tury. Speak to me, Susan ; speak, my beloved
ones ; for the scene is glimmering on my sight
again, and as it brightens you fade away. O,
I should be loath to lose my treasure of past
happiness, and become once more what I was
then : a hermit in the depths of my own mind ;
sometimes yawning over drowsy volumes, and
anon a scribbler of wearier trash than what I
read ; a man who had wandered out of the real

102

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

world and got into its shadow, where his trou-
bles, joys, and vicissitudes were of such slight
stuff that he hardly knew whether he lived, or
only dreamed of living. Thank Heaven, I am
an old man now, and have done with all such
vanities.

Still this dimness of mine eyes ! Come
nearer, Susan, and stand before the fullest blaze
of the hearth. Now I behold you illuminated
from head to foot, in your clean cap and decent
gown, with the dear lock of gray hair across
your forehead, and a quiet smile about your
mouth, while the eyes alone are concealed by
the red gleam of the fire upon your spectacles.
There, you made me tremble again ! When the
flame quivered, my sweet Susan, you quivered
with it, and grew indistinct, as if melting into the
warm light, that my last glimpse of you might
be as visionary as the first was, full many a year
since. Do you remember it ? You stood on
the little bridge over the brook that runs across
King's Beach into the sea. It was twilight ;
the waves rolling in, the wind sweeping by, the
crimson clouds fading in the west, and the sil-
ver moon brightening above the hill ; and on
the bridge were you, fluttering in the breeze
like a sea-bird that might skim away at your
pleasure. You seemed a daughter of the view-
less wind, a creature of the ocean foam and the
crimson light, whose merry life was spent in
103

TWICE-TOLD TALES

dancing on the crests of the billows, that threw
up their spray to support your footsteps. As I
drew nearer, I fancied you akin to the race of
mermaids, and thought how pleasant it would
be to dwell with you among the quiet coves, in
the shadow of the cliffs, and to roam along
secluded beaches of the purest sand ; and when
our northern shores grew bleak, to haunt the
islands, green and lonely, far amid summer
seas. And yet it gladdened me, after all this
nonsense, to find you nothing but a pretty young
girl, sadly perplexed* with the rude behavior of
the wind about your petticoats.

Thus I did with Susan as with hiost other
things in my earlier days, dipping her image
into my mind and coloring it of a thousand
fantastic hues, before I could see her as she
really was. Now, Susan, for a sober picture
of our village ! It was a small collection of
dwellings that seemed to have been cast up by
the sea, with the rockweed and marine plants
that it vomits after a storm, or to have come
ashore among the pipe-staves and other lumber
which had been washed from the deck of an
eastern schooner. There was just space for the
narrow and sandy street, between the beach in
front and a precipitous hill that lifted its rocky
forehead in the rear, among a waste of juniper
bushes and the wild growth of a broken pasture.
The village was picturesque in the variety of
104

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

its edifices, though all were rude. Here stood
a little old hovel, built perhaps of driftwood ;
there a row of boat-houses ; and beyond them
a two-story dwelling, of dark and weather-
beaten aspect, the whole intermixed with one
or two snug cottages, painted white, a suffi-
ciency of pigsties, and a shoemaker's shop.
Two grocery stores stood opposite each other,
in the centre of the village. These were the
places of resort, at their idle hours, of a hardy
throng of fishermen, in red baize shirts, oil-
cloth trousers, and boots of brown leather cov-
ering the whole leg ; true seven-league boots,
but fitter to wade the ocean than walk the earth.
The wearers seemed amphibious, as if they did
but creep out of salt water to sun themselves ;
nor would it have been wonderful to see their
lower limbs covered with clusters of little shell-
fish, such as cling to rocks and old ship timber
over which the tide ebbs and flows. When
their fleet of boats was weather-bound, the
butchers raised their price, and the spit was
busier than the frying-pan : for this was a place
of fish, and known as such, to all the country
round about ; the very air was fishy, being
perfumed with dead sculpins, hardheads, and
dogfish strewn plentifully on the beach. You
see, children, the village is but little changed
since your mother and I were young.

How like a dream it was, when I bent over
105

TWICE-TOLD TALES

a pool of water one pleasant morning, and saw
that the ocean had dashed its spray over me
and made me a fisherman ! There were the
tarpauling, the baize shirt, the oil-cloth trou-
sers and seven-league boots, and there my own
features, but so reddened with sunburn and sea-
breezes, that methought I had another face,
and on other shoulders too. The sea-gulls and
the loons and I had now all one trade ; we
skimmed the crested waves and sought our
prey beneath them, the man with as keen en-
joyment as the birds. Always, when the east
grew purple, I launched my dory, my little
flat-bottomed skiff, and rowed cross-handed to
Point Ledge, the Middle Ledge, or perhaps
beyond Egg Rock ; often, too, did I anchor
off Dread Ledge, a spot of peril to ships unpi-
loted ; and sometimes spread an adventurous
sail and tacked across the bay to South Shore,
casting my lines in sight of Scituate. Ere
nightfall, I hauled my skiff high and dry on
the beach, laden with red rock cod, or the
white-bellied ones of deep water; haddock,
bearing the black marks of Saint Peter's fingers
near the gills ; the long-bearded hake, whose
liver holds oil enough for a midnight lamp ;
aiid now and then a mighty halibut, with a back
broad as my boat. In the autumn, I trolled
sivid caught those lovely fish, the mackerel.
When the wind was high, — when the whale-
io6

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

boats, anchored off the Point, nodded their
slender masts at each other, and the dories
pitched and tossed in the surf, — when Nahant
Beach was thundering three miles off, and the
spray broke a hundred feet in air round the dis-
tant base of Egg Rock, — when the brimful
and boisterous sea threatened to tumble over
the street of our village, — then I made a holi-
day on shore.

Many such a day did I sit snugly in Mr.
Bartlett's store, attentive to the yarns of Uncle
Parker ; uncle to the whole village by right of
seniority, but of southern blood, with no kin-
dred in New England. His figure is before
me now, enthroned upon a mackerel barrel : a
lean old man, of great height, but bent with
years, and twisted into an uncouth shape by
seven broken limbs ; furrowed . also, and wea-
ther-worn, as if every gale, for the better part
of a century, had caught him somewhere on the
sea. He looked like a harbinger of tempest ;
a shipmate of the Flying Dutchman. After
innumerable voyages aboard men-of-war and
merchantmen, fishing-schooners and chebacco
boats, the old salt had become master of a hand-
cart, which he daily trundled about the vicinity,
and sometimes blew his fish-horn through the
streets of Salem. One of Uncle Parker's eves
had been blown out with gunpowder, and the
other did but glimmer in its socket. Turning
107

TWICE-TOLD TALES

it upward as he spoke, it was his delight to tell
of cruises against the French, and battles with
his own shipmates, when he and an antagonist
used to be seated astride of a sailor's chest, each
fastened down by a spike nail through his
trousers, and there to fight it out. Sometimes
he expatiated on the delicious flavor of the hag-
den, a greasy and goose-like fowl, which the
sailors catch with hook and line on the Grand
Banks. He dwelt with rapture on an inter-
minable winter at the Isle of Sables, where he
had gladdened himself, amid polar snows, with
the rum and sugar saved from the wreck of a
West India schooner. And wrathfuUy did he
shake his fist, as he related how a party of
Cape Cod men had robbed him and his com-
panions of their lawful spoil, and sailed away
with every keg of old Jamaica, leaving him not
a drop to drown his sorrow. Villains they were,
and of that wicked brotherhood who are said to
tie lanterns to horses* tails, to mislead the mari-
ner along the dangerous shores of the Cape.

Even now, I seem to see the group of fisher-
men, with that old salt in the midst. One fel-
low sits on the counter, a second bestrides an
oil barrel, a third lolls at his length on a par-
cel of new cod-lines, and another has planted
the tarry seat of his trousers on a heap of salt,
which will shortly be sprinkled over a lot of
fish. They are a likely set of men. Some have
io8

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

voyaged to the East Indies or the Pacific, and
most of them have sailed in Marblehead
schooners to Newfoundland ; a few have been
no farther than the Middle Banks, and one or
two have always fished along the shore ; but, as
Uncle Parker used to say, they have all been
christened in salt water, and know more than
men ever learn in the bushes. A curious figr
ure, by way of contrast, is a fish-dealer from
far up-country, listening with eyes wide open to
narratives that might startle Sinbad the Sailor.
Be it well with you, my brethren ! Ye are all
gone, some to your graves ashore, and others
to the depths of ocean ; but my faith is strong
that ye are happy ; for whenever I behold your
forms, whether in dream or vision, each de-
parted friend is puffing his long nine, and a
mug of the right black strap goes round from
lip to lip.

But where was the mermaid in those delight-
ful times ? At a certain window near the centre
of the village appeared a pretty display of gin-
gerbread men and horses, picture-books and
ballads, small fish-hooks, pins, needles, sugar-
plums, and brass thimbles, articles on which the
young fishermen used to expend their money
from pure gallantry. What a picture was Susan
behind the counter ! A slender maiden, though
the child of rugged parents, she had the slim-
mest of all waists, brown hair curling on her
109

TWICE-TOLD TALES

neck, and a complexion rather pale, except when
the sea-breeze flushed it. A few freckles be-
came beauty-spots beneath her eyelids. How
was it, Susan, that you talked and acted so
carelessly, yet always for the best, doing what-
ever was right in your own eyes, and never
once doing wrong in mine, nor shocked a taste
that had been morbidly sensitive till now ?
And whence had you that happiest gift of
brightening every topic with an unsought gay-
ety, quiet but irresistible, so that even gloomy
spirits felt your sunshine, and did not shrink
from it ? Nature wrought the charm. She
made you a frank, simple, kind-hearted, sensi-
ble, and mirthful girl. Obeying nature, you
did free things without indelicacy, displayed a
maiden's thoughts to every eye, and proved
yourself as innocent as naked Eve.

It was beautiful to observe how her simple
and happy nature mingled itself with mine.
She kindled a domestic fire within my heart, and
took up her dwelling there, even in that chill
and lonesome cavern, hung round with glitter-
ing icicles of fancy. She gave me warmth of
feeling, while the influence of my mind made
her contemplative. I taught her to love the
moonlight hour, when the expanse of the en-
circled bay was smooth as a great mirror and
slept in a transparent shadow ; while beyond
Nahant the wind rippled the dim ocean into a
no

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

dreamy brightness, which grew faint afar off
without becoming gloomier. I held her hand
and pointed to the long surf wave, as it rolled
calmly on the beach, in an unbroken line of
silver ; we were silent together till its deep and
peaceful murmur had swept by us. When the
Sabbath sun shone down into the recesses of
the cliffs, I led the mermaid thither, and told
her that those huge, gray, shattered rocks, and
her native sea, that raged forever like a storm
against them, and her own slender beauty in so
stern a scene, were all combined into a strain
of poetry. But on the Sabbath eve, when her
mother had gone early to bed, and her gentle
sister had smiled and left us, as we sat alone by
the quiet hearth, with household things around,
it was her turn to make me feel that here was
a deeper poetry, and that this was the dearest
hour of all. Thus went on our wooing till I
had shot wild fowl enough to feather our bridal
bed, and the Daughter of the Sea was mine.

I built a cottage for Susan and myself, and
made a gateway in the form of a Gothic arch,
by setting up a whale's jaw-bones. We bought
a heifer with her first calf, and had a little gar-
den on the hillside, to supply us with potatoes
and green sauce for our fish. Our parlor, small
and neat, was ornamented with our two profiles
in one gilt frame, and with shells and pretty
pebbles on the mantelpiece, selected from the
III

TWICE-TOLD TALES

sea's treasury of such things, on Nahant Beach.
On the desk, beneath the looking-glass, lay
the Bible, which I had begun to read aloud at
the book of Genesis, and the singing-book that
Susan used for her evening psalm. Except the
almanac, we had no other literature. All that
I heard of books v/as when an Indian history,
or tale of shipwreck, was sold by a pedlar or
wandering subscription man, to some one in the
village, and read through its owner's nose to a
slumberous auditory. Like my brother fisher-
men, I grew into the belief that all human eru-
dition was collected in our pedagogue, whose
green spectacles and solemn phiz, as he passed
to his little school-house amid a waste of sand,
might have gained him a diploma from any
college in New England. In truth, I dreaded
him. When our children were old enough to
claim his care, you remember, Susan, how 1
frowned, though you were pleased, at this
learned man's encomiums on their proficiency.
I feared to trust them even with the alphabet ;
it was the key to a fatal treasure. ^

But I loved to lead them by their little hands
along the beach, and point to nature in the vast
and the minute, the sky, the sea, the green
earth, the pebbles, and the shells. Then did I
discourse of the mighty works and coextensive
goodness of the Deity, with the simple wisdom
of a man whose mind had profited by lonely

112

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

days upon the deep, and his heart by the
strong and pure affections of his evening home.
Sometimes my voice lost itself in a tremulous
depth ; for I felt His eye upon me as I spoke.
Once, while my wife and all of us were gaz-
ing at ourselves, in the mirror left by the tide
in a hollow of the sand, I pointed to the pic-
tured heaven below, and bade her observe how^
religion was strewn everywhere in our path ;
since even a casual pool of water recalled the
idea of that home whither we were travelling, to
rest forever with our children. Suddenly, your
image, Susan, and all the little faces made up
of yours and mine, seemed to fade away and
vanish around me, leaving a pale visage like my
own of former days within the frame of a large
looking-glass. Strange illusion !

My life glided on, the past appearing to
mingle with the present and absorb the future,
till the whole lies before me at a glance. My
manhood has long been waning with a stanch
decay ; my earlier contemporaries, after lives of
unbroken health, are all at rest, without having
known the weariness of later age ; and now,
with a wrinkled forehead and thin white hair as
badges of my dignity, I have become the patri-
arch, the Uncle of the village. I love that
name ; it widens the circle of my sympathies ;
it joins all the youthful to my household in the
kindred of affection.

"3

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Like Uncle Parker, whose rheumatic bones
were dashed against Egg Rock full forty years
ago, I am a spinner of long yarns. Seated on
the gunwale of a dory, or on the sunny side of
a boat-house, where the warmth is grateful to
my limbs, or by my own hearth, when a friend
or two are there, I overflow with talk, and yet
am never tedious. With a broken voice I give
utterance to much wisdom. Such, Heaven be
praised ! is the vigor of my faculties, that many
a forgotten usage, and traditions ancient in my
youth, and early adventures of myself or others,
hitherto effaced by things more recent, acquire
new distinctness in my memory. I remember
the happy days when the haddock were more
numerous on all the fishing-grounds than scul-
pins in the surf; when the deep-water cod swam
close in shore, and the dogfish, with his poison-
ous horn, had not learned to take the hook.
I can number every equinoctial storm in which
the sea has overwhelmed the street, flooded
the cellars of the village, and hissed upon our
kitchen hearth. I give the history of the great
whale that was landed on Whale Beach^ and
whose jaws, being now my gateway, will last for
ages after my coffin shall have passed beneath
them. Thence it is an easy digression to the
halibut, scarcely smaller than the whale, which
ran out six cod-lines, and hauled my dory to
114

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

the mouth of Boston Harbor, before I could
touch him with the gaff.

If melancholy accidents be the theme of con-
versation, I tell how a friend of mine was taken
out of his boat by an enormous shark ; and the
sad, true tale of a young man on the eve of
marriage, who had been nine days missing,
when his drowned body floated into the very
pathway, on Marblehead Neck, that had often
led him to the dwelling of his bride, — as if the
dripping corpse would have come where the
mourner was. With such awful fidelity did that
lover return to fulfil his vows ! Another favor-
ite story is of a crazy maiden, who conversed
with angels and had the gift of prophecy, and
whom all the village loved and pitied, though
she went from door to door accusing us of sin,
exhorting to repentance, and foretelling our de-
struction by flood or earthquake. If the young
men boast their knowledge of the ledges and
sunken rocks, I speak of pilots who knew the
wind by its scent and the wave by its taste, and
could have steered blindfold to any port be-
tween Boston and Mount Desert, guided only
by the rote of the shore, — the peculiar sound
of the surf on each island, beach, and line of
rocks, along the coast. Thus do I talk, and all
my auditors grow wise while they deem it pas-
time.

115

TWICE-TOLD TALES

I recollect no happier portion of my life than
this, my calm old age. It is like the sunny and
sheltered slope of a valley, where, late in the au-
tumn, the grass is greener than in August, and
intermixed with golden dandelions that have
not been seen till now, since the first warmth
of the year. But with me the verdure and the
flowers are not frost-bitten in the midst of win-
ter. A playfulness has revisited my mind ; a
sympathy with the young and gay ; an unpain-
ful interest in the business of others ; a light
and wandering curiosity ; arising, perhaps, from
the sense that my toil on earth is ended, and
the brief hour till bedtime may be spent in play.
Still I have fancied that there is a depth of
feeling and reflection under this superficial lev-
ity peculiar to one who has lived long and is
soon to die.

Show me anything that would make an in-
. fant smile, and you shall behold a gleam of
mirth over the hoary ruin of my visage. I can
spend a pleasant hour in the sun, watching the
sports of the village children on the edge of the
surf: now they chase the retreating wave far
down over the wet sand ; now it steals softly
up to kiss their naked feet ; now it comes on-
ward with threatening front, and roars after the
laughing crew, as they scamper beyond its
reach. Why should not an old man be merry
too, when the great sea is at play with those
ii6

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

little children ? I delight, also, to follow in the
wake of a pleasure party of young men and
girls, strolling along the beach after an early
supper at the Point. Here, with handkerchiefs
at nose, they bend over a heap of eel-grass, en-
tangled in which is a dead skate, so oddly ac-
coutred with two legs and a long tail that they
mistake him for a drowned animal. A few
steps farther the ladies scream, and the gen-
tlemen make ready to protect them against a
young shark of the dogfish kind, rolling with a
lifelike motion in the tide that has thrown him
up. Next, they are smit with wonder at the
black shells of a wagonload of live lobsters,
packed in rockweed for the country market.
And when they reach the fleet of dories, just
hauled ashore after the day's fishing, how do I
laugh in my sleeve, and sometimes roar out-
right, at the simplicity of these young folks and
the sly humor of the fishermen ! In winter,
when our village is thrown into a bustle by the
arrival of perhaps a score of country dealers,
bargaining for frozen fish, to be transported
hundreds of miles, and eaten fresh in Vermont
or Canada, I am a pleased but idle spectator in
the throng. For I launch my boat no more.

When the shore was solitary, I have found a

pleasure that seemed even to exalt my mind, in

observing the sports or contentions of two gulls,

as they wheeled and hovered about each other,

117

TWICE-TOLD TALES

with hoarse screams, one moment flapping on
the foam of the wave, and then soaring aloft,
till their white bosoms melted into the upper
sunshine. In the calm of the summer sunset,
I drag my aged limbs, with a little ostentation
of activity, because I am so old, up to the rocky
brow of the hill. There I see the white sails
of many a vessel, outward bound or homeward
from afar, and the black trail of a vapor behind
the eastern steamboat ; there, too, is the sun
going down, but not in gloom, and there the
illimitable ocean mingling with the sky, to re-
mind me of Eternity.

But sweetest of all is the hour of cheerful
musing and pleasant talk, that comes between
the dusk and the lighted candle, by my glowing
fireside. And never, even on the first Thanks-
gis^ing night, when Susan and I sat alone with
our hopes, nor the second, when a stranger had
been sent to gladden us, and be the visible im-
age of our aifection, did I feel such joy as now.
All that belong to me are here ; Death has taken
none, nor Disease kept them away, nor Strife
divided them from their parents or each other ;
with neither poverty nor riches to disturb them,
iior the misery of desires beyond their lot, they
have kept New England's festival round the
patriarch's board. For I am a patriarch ! Here
I sit among my descendants, in my old arm-
chair and immemorial corner, while the fire-
ii8

THE VILLAGE UNCLE

light throws an appropriate glory round my
venerable frame. Susan ! My children ! Some-
thing whispers me that this happiest hour must
be the final one, and that nothing remains but
to bless you all, and depart with a treasure of
recollected joys to heaven. Will you meet me
there ? Alas ! your figures grow indistinct, fad-
ing into pictures on the air, and now to fainter
outlines, while the fire is glimmering on the
walls of a familiar room, and shows the book
that I flung down, and the sheet that I left half
written, some fifty years ago. I lift my eyes to
the looking-glass and perceive myself alone,
unless those be the mermaid's features retiring
into the depths of the mirror with a tender and
melancholy smile.

Ah ! one feels a chillness, not bodily, but
about the heart, and, moreover, a foolish dread
of looking behind him, after these pastimes. I
can imagine precisely how a magician would sit
down in gloom and terror, after dismissing the
shadows that had personated dead or distant peo-
ple, and stripping his cavern of the unreal splen-
dor which had changed it to a palace. And now
for a moral to my reverie. Shall it be that, since
fancy can create so bright a dream of happiness,
it were better to dream on from youth to age,
than to awake and strive doubtfully for some-
thing real ? O, the slight tissue of a dream can
no more preserve us from the stern reality of
"9

TWICE-TOLD TALES

misfortune than a robe of cobweb could repel the
wintry blast. Be this the moral, then. In chaste
and warm affections, humble wishes, and honest
toil for some useful end, there is health for the
mind, and quiet for the heart, the prospect of a
happy life, and the fairest hope of heaven.

120

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

ONE September night a family had gath-
ered round their hearth, and piled it
high with the driftwood of mountain
streams, the dry cones of the pine, and the
splintered ruins of great trees that had come
crashing down the precipice. Up the chimney
roared the fire, and brightened the room with its
broad blaze. The faces of the father and mother
had a sober gladness ; the children laughed ; the
eldest daughter was the image of Happiness at
seventeen ; and the aged grandmother, who sat
knitting in the warmest place, was the image of
Happiness grown old. They had found the
" herb, heart's-ease," in the bleakest spot of all
New England. This family were situated in the
Notch of the White Hills, where the wind was
sharp throughout the year, and pitilessly cold in
the winter, — giving their cottage all its fresh
inclemency before it descended on the valley of
the Saco. They dwelt in a cold spot and a dan-
gerous one ; for a mountain towered above their
heads, so steep, that the stones would often
rumble down its sides and startle them at mid-
night.

The daughter had just uttered some simple

121

TWICE-TOLD TALES

jest that filled them all with mirth, when the
wind came through the Notch and seemed to
pause before their cottage — rattling the door,
with a sound of wailing and lamentation, before
it passed into the valley. For a moment it sad-
dened them, though there was nothing unusual
in the tones. But the family were glad again
when they perceived that the latch was lifted by
some traveller, whose footsteps had been un-
heard amid the dreary blast which heralded his
approach, and wailed as he was entering, and
went moaning away from the door.

Though they dwelt in such a solitude, these
people held daily converse with the world. The
romantic pass of the Notch is a great artery,
through which the life-blood of internal com-
merce is continually throbbing between Maine,
on one side, and the Green Mountains and the
shores of the St. Lawrence, on the other. The
stage-coach always drew up before the door of
the cottage. The wayfarer, with no companion
but his staff, paused here to exchange a word,
that the sense of loneliness might not utterly
overcome him ere he could pass through the
cleft of the mountain, or reach the first house
in the valley. And here the teamster, on his
way to Portland market, would put up for the
night ; and, if a bachelor, might sit an hour be-
yond the usual bedtime, and steal a kiss from the
mountain maid at parting. It was one of those

122

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

primitive taverns where the traveller pays only
for food and lodging, but meets with a homely
kindness beyond all price. When the footsteps
were heard, therefore, between the outer door
and the inner one, the whole family rose up,
grandmother, children, and all, as if about to
welcome some one who belonged to them, and
whose fate was linked with theirs.

The door was opened by a young man. His
face at first wore the melancholy expression,
almost despondency, of one who travels a wild
and bleak road, at nightfall and alone, but soon
brightened up when he saw the kindly warmth
of his reception. He felt his heart spring for-
ward to meet them all, from the old woman, who
wiped a chair with her apron, to the little child
that held out its arms to him. One glance and
smile placed the stranger on a footing of inno-
cent familiarity with the eldest daughter.

" Ah, this fire is the right thing ! " cried he ;
" especially when there is such a pleasant circle
round it. I am quite benumbed ; for the Notch
is just like the pipe of a great pair of bellows ;
it has blown a terrible blast in my face all the
way from Bartlett."

" Then you are going towards Vermont ? "
said the master of the house, as he helped to
take a light knapsack off the young man's shoul-
ders.

" Yes ; to Burlington, and far enough beyond,"
• 123

TWICE-TOLD TALES

replied he. " I meant to have been at Ethan
Crawford's to-night ; but a pedestrian Hngers
along such a road as this. It is no matter ; for,
when I saw this good fire, and all your cheerful
faces, I felt as if you had kindled it on pur-
pose for me, and were waiting my arrival. So
I shall sit down among you, and make myself
at home."

The frank-hearted stranger had just drawn
his chair to the fire when something like a heavy
footstep was heard without, rushing down the
steep side of the mountain, as with long and
rapid strides, and taking such a leap in passing
the cottage as to strike the opposite precipice.
The family held their breath because they knew
the sound, and their guest held his by instinct.

" The old mountain has thrown a stone at us,
for fear we should forget him," said the land-
lord, recovering himself. "He sometimes nods
his head and threatens to come down ; but we
are old neighbors, and agree together pretty well
upon the whole. Besides, we have a sure place
of refuge hard by, if he should be coming in
good earnest."

Let us now suppose the stranger to have fin-
ished his supper of bear's meat ; and, by his
natural felicity of manner, to have placed him-
self on a footing of kindness with the whole
family, so that they talked as freely together as
if he belonged to their mountain brood. He
124 •

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

was of a proud, yet gentle spirit — haughty and
reserved among the rich and great ; but ever
ready to stoop his head to the lowly cottage
door, and be like a brother or a son at the poor
man*s fireside. In the household of the Notch
he found warmth and simplicity of feeling, the
pervading intelligence of New England, and a
poetry of native growth, which they had gath-
ered when they little thought of it from the
mountain peaks and chasms, and at the very
threshold of their romantic and dangerous
abode. He had travelled far and alone ; his
whole life, indeed, had been a solitary path; for,
with the lofty caution of his nature, he had
kept himself apart from those who might other-
wise have been his companions. The family,
too, though so kind and hospitable, had that
consciousness of unity among themselves, and
separation from the world at large, which, in
every domestic circle, should still keep a holy
place where no stranger may intrude. But this
evening a prophetic sympathy impelled the re-
fined and 'educated, youth to pour out his heart
before the simple mountaineers, and constrained
them to answer him with the same free confi-
dence. And thus it should have been. Is not
the kindred of a common fate a closer tie than
that of birth ?

The secret of the young man's character was
a high and abstracted ambition. He could have
125

TWICE-TOLD TALES

borne to live an undistinguished life, but not to
be forgotten in the grave. Yearning desire had
been transformed to hope ; and hope, long cher-
ished, had become like certainty, that, obscurely
as he journeyed now, a glory was to beam on
all his pathway, — though not, perhaps, while
he was treading it. But when posterity should
gaze back into the gloom of what was now the
present, they would trace the brightness of his
footsteps, brightening as meaner glories faded,
and confess that a gifted one had passed from
his cradle to his tomb with none to recognize
him.

"As yet," cried the stranger — his cheek
glowing and his eye flashing with enthusiasm —
" as yet, I have done nothing. Were I to van-
ish from the earth to-morrow, none would know
so much of me as you : that a nameless youth
came up at nightfall from the valley of the Saco,
and opened his heart to you in the evening, and
passed through the Notch by sunrise, and was
seen no more. Not a soul would ask, ' Who
was he ? Whither did the wanderer go ? ' But
I cannot die till I have achieved my destiny.
Then, let Death come ! I shall have built my
monument ! "

There was a continual flow of natural emo-
tion, gushing forth amid abstracted reverie,
which enabled the family to understand this
young man's sentiments, though so foreign from
126

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

their own. With quick sensibility of the ludi-
crous, he blushed at the ardor into which he
had been betrayed.

" You laugh at me," said he, taking the
eldest daughter's hand, and laughing himself.
" You think my ambition as nonsensical as if
I were to freeze myself to death on the top of
Mount Washington, only that people might
spy at me from the country round about. And,
truly, that would be a noble pedestal for a man's
statue ! *'

"It is better to sit here by this fire," an-
swered the girl, blushing, " and be comfortable
and contented, though nobody thinks about

US.

" I suppose," said her father, after a fit of
musing, " there is something natural in what
the young man says ; and if my mind had been
turned that way, I might have felt just the same.
It is strange, wife, how his talk has set my head
running on things that are pretty certain never
to come to pass."

" Perhaps they may," observed the wife. "Is
the man thinking what he will do when he is a
widower ? "

" No, no ! " cried he, repelling the idea with
reproachful kindness. " When I think of your
death, Esther, I think of mine, too. But I
was wishing we had a good farm in Bartlett, or
Bethlehem, or Littleton, or some other town-
127

TWICE-TOLD TALES

ship round the White Mountains ; but not
where they could tumble on our heads. I
should want to stand well with my neighbors
and be called Squire, and sent to General Court
for a term or two ; for a plain, honest man may
do as much good there as a lawyer. And when
I should be grown quite an old man, and you
an old woman, so as not to- be long apart, I
might die happy enough in my bed, and leave
you all crying around me. A slate gravestone
would suit me as well as a marble one — with
just my name and age, and a verse of a hymn,
and something to let people know that I lived
an honest man and died a Christian."

" There now ! " exclaimed the stranger ; " it
is our nature to desire a monument, be it slate
or marble, or a pillar of granite, or a glorious
memory in the universal heart of man."

" We 're in a strange way to-night," said the
wife, with tears in her eyes. " They say it 's a
sign of something, when folks' minds go a-wan-
dering so. Hark to the children ! "

They listened accordingly. The younger
children had been put to bed in another room,
but with an open door between, so that they
could be heard talking busily among themselves.
One and all seemed to have caught the infec-
tion from the fireside circle, and were outvying
each other in wild wishes, and childish projects
of what they would do when they came to be
128

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

men and women. At length a little boy, in-
stead of addressing his brothers and sisters,
called out to his mother.

" I '11 tell you what I wish, mother," cried
he. " I want you and father and grandma'm,
and all of us, and the stranger too, to start right
away, and go and take a drink out of the basin
of the Flume ! "

Nobody could help laughing at the child's
notion of leaving a warm bed, and dragging
them from a cheerful fire, to visit the basin of
the Flume, — a brook which tumbles over the
precipice, deep within the Notch. The boy had
hardly spoken when a wagon rattled along the
road, and stopped a moment before the door.
It appeared to contain two or three men, who
were cheering their hearts with the rough cho-
rus of a song, which resounded, in broken notes,
between the cHfFs, while the singers hesitated
whether to continue their journey or put up
here for the night.

" Father," said the *girl, " they are calling
you by name."

But the good man doubted whether they had
really called him, and was unwilling to show
himself too solicitous of gain by inviting people
to patronize his house. He therefore did not
hurry to the door ; and the lash being soon
applied, the travellers plunged into the Notch,
still singing and laughing, though their music
129 .

TWICE-TOLD TALES

and mirth came back drearily from the heart of
the mountain.

" There, mother ! " cried the boy again.
*'They *d have given us a ride to the Flume."

Again they laughed at the child's pertina-
cious fancy for a night ramble. But it hap-
pened that a light cloud passed over the daugh-
ter's spirit ; she looked gravely into the fire,
and drew a breath that was almost a sigh. It
forced its way, in spite of a little struggle to
repress it. Then starting and blushing, she
looked quickly round the circle, as if they had
caught a glimpse into her bosom. The stran-
ger asked what she had been thinking of.

" Nothing," answered she, with a downcast
smile. " Only I felt lonesome just then."

" O, I have always had a gift of feeling what
is in other people's hearts," said he half seri-
ously. " Shall I tell the secrets of yours ? For
I know what to think when a young girl shiv-
ers by a warm hearth, and complains of lone-
someness at her mother's side. Shall I put
these feelings into words ? "

" They would not be a girl's feelings any
longer, if they could be put into words," replied
the mountain nymph, laughing, but avoiding
his eye.

All this was said apart. Perhaps a germ of
love was springing in their hearts, so pure that
it might blossom in Paradise, since it could not
130

(

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

be matured on earth ; for women worship such
gentle dignity as his ; and the proud, contem-
plative, yet kindly soul is oftenest captivated
by simplicity like hers. But while they spoke
softly, and he was watching the happy sadness,
the lightsome shadows, the shy yearnings of a
maiden's nature, the wind through the Notch
took a deeper and drearier sound. It seemed,
as the fanciful stranger said, like the choral
strain of the spirits of the blast, who in old
Indian times had their dwelling among these
mountains, and made their heights and recesses
a sacred region. There was a wail along the
road, as if a funeral were passing. To chase
away the gloom, the family threw pine branches
on their fire, till the dry leaves crackled and the
flame arose, discovering once again a scene of
peace and humble happiness. The light hov-
ered about them fondly, and caressed them all.
There were the little faces of the children, peep-
ing from their bed apart, and here the father's
frame of strength, the mother's subdued and
careful mien, the high-browed youth, the bud-
ding girl, and the good old grandam, still knit-
ting in the warmest place. The aged woman
looked up from her task, and, with fingers ever
busy, was the next to speak.

" Old folks have their notions," said she, " as
well as young ones. You 've been wishing and
planning ; and letting your heads run on one

TWICE-TOLD TALES

thing and another, till you Ve set my mind
a-wandering too. Now what should an old
woman wish for, when she can go but a step
or two before she comes to her grave ? Chil-
dren, it will haunt me night and day till I tell
you."

" What is it, mother ? " cried the husband
and wife at once.

Then the old woman, with an air of mystery
which drew the circle closer round the fire, in-
formed them that she had provided her grave-
clothes some years before, — a nice linen shroud,
a cap with a musHn ruff, and everything of a
finer sort than she had worn since her wedding
day. But this evening an old superstition had
strangely recurred to her. It used to be said,
in her younger days, that if anything were amiss
with a corpse, if only the ruff were not smooth,
or the cap did not set right, the corpse in the
cofHn and beneath the clods would strive to put
up its cold hands and arrange it. The bare
thought made her nervous.

" Don't talk so, grandmother ! " said the girl,
shuddering.

" Now," — continued the old woman, with
singular earnestness, yet smiling strangely at her
own folly, — "I want one of you, my children
— when your mother is dressed and in the
coffin — I want one of you to hold a looking
glass over my face. Who knows but I may
132

I

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

take a glimpse at myself, and see whether all *s
right ? *'

" Old and young, we dream of graves and
monuments," murmured the stranger youth.
" I wonder how mariners feel when the ship
is sinking, and they, unknown and undistin-
guished, are to be buried together in the ocean
— that wide and nameless sepulchre ? "

For a moment, the old woman's ghastly con-
ception so engrossed the minds of her hearers
that a sound abroad in the night, rising like the
roar of a blast, had grown broad, deep, and ter-
rible, before the fated group were conscious of
it. The house and all within it trembled ; the
foundations of the earth seemed to be shaken,
as if this awful sound were the peal of the last
trump. Young and old exchanged one wild
glance, and remained an instant, pale, affrighted,
without utterance, or power to move. Then
the same shriek burst simultaneously from all
their lips.

" The Slide ! The Slide ! "

The simplest words must intimate, but not
portray, the unutterable horror of the catastro-
phe. The victims rushed from their cottage,
and sought refuge in what they deemed a safer
spot — where, in contemplation of such an
emergency, a sort of barrier had been reared.
Alas ! they had quitted their security, and fled
right into the pathway of destruction. Down
133

TWICE-TOLD TALES

came the whole side of the mountain, in a cata-
ract of ruin. Just before it reached the house,
the stream broke into two branches — shivered
not a window there, but overwhelmed the whole
vicinity, blocked up the road, and annihilated
everything in its dreadful course. Long ere the
thunder of the great Slide had ceased to roar
among the mountains, the mortal agony had
been endured, and the victims were at peace.
Their bodies were never found.

The next morning, the light smoke was seen
stealing from the cottage chimney up the moun-
tain-side. Within, the fire was yet smouldering
on the hearth, and the chairs in a circle round
it, as if the inhabitants had but gone forth to
view the devastation of the Slide, and would
shortly return, to thank Heaven for their mi-
raculous escape. All had left separate tokens,
by which those who had known the family were
made to shed a tear for each. Who has not
heard their name ? The story has been told far
and wide, and will forever be a legend of these
mountain. Poets have sung their fate.

There were circumstances which led some to
suppose that a stranger had been received into
the cottage on this awful night, and had shared
the catastrophe of all its inmates. Others de-
nied that there were sufficient grounds for such
a conjecture. Woe for the high-souled youth,
with his dream of Earthly Immortality ! His
134

Into the pathway of destruction

»

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST

name and person utterly unknown ; his history,
his way of life, his plans, a mystery never to be
solved, his death and his existence equally a
doubt ! Whose was the agony of that death
moment ?

THE SISTER YEARS

LAST night, between eleven and twelve
o'clock, when the Old Year was leaving
her final footprints on the borders of
Time's empire, she found herself in possession
of a few spare moments, and sat down — of all
places in the world — on the steps of our new
City Hall. The wintry moonlight showed that
she looked weary of body and sad of heart,
like many another wayfarer of earth. Her
garments, having been exposed to much foul
weather and rough usage, were in very ill condi-
tion; and as the hurry of her journey had never
before allowed her to take an instant's rest, her
shoes were so worn as to be scarcely worth the
mending. But, after trudging only a little dis-
tance farther, this poor Old Year was destined to
enjoy a long, long sleep. I forgot to mention
that, when she seated herself on the steps, she
deposited by her side a very capacious bandbox,
in which, as is the custom among travellers of
her sex, she carried a great deal of valuable pro-
perty. Besides this luggage, there was a folio
book under her arm, very much resembling the
annual volume of a newspaper. Placing this
volume across her knees, and resting her elbows
136

L

THE SISTER YEARS

upon it, with 'her forehead in her hands, the
weary, bedraggled, world-worn Old Year heaved
a heavy sigh, and appeared to be taking no very
pleasant retrospect of her past existence.

While she thus awaited the midnight knell
that was to summon her to the innumerable
sisterhood of departed Years, there came a
young maiden treading lightsomely on tiptoe
along the street, from the direction of the Rail-
road Depot. She was evidently a stranger, and
perhaps had come to town by the evening train
of cars. There was a smiling cheerfulness in
this fair maiden's face, which bespoke her fully
confident of a kind reception from the multi-
tude of people with whom she was soon to form
acquaintance. Her dress was rather too airy
for the season, and was bedizened with flutter-
ing ribbons and other vanities, which were likely
soon to be rent away by the fierce storms or to
fade in the hot sunshine, amid which she was to
pursue her changeful course. But still she was
a wonderfully pleasant looking figure, and had
so much promise and such an indescribable
hopefulness in her aspect, that hardly anybody
could meet her without anticipating some very
desirable thing — the consummation of some
long-sought good — from her kind offices. A
few dismal characters there may be, here and
there about the world, who have so often been
trifled with by young maidens as promising as
U7

TWICE-TOLD TALES

she, that they have now ceased to pin any faith
upon the skirts of the New Year. But, for my
own part, I have great faith in her ; and should
I live to see fifty more such, still, from each of
these successive sisters, I shall reckon upon re-
ceiving something that will be worth living for.

The New Year — for this young maiden was
no less a personage — carried all her goods and
chattels in a basket of no great size or weight,
which hung upon her arm. She greeted the
disconsolate Old Year with great affection, and
sat down beside her on the steps of the City
Hall, waiting for the signal to begin her ram-
bles through the world. The two were own
sisters, being both granddaughters of Time ;
and though one looked so much older than the
other, it was rather owing to hardships and
trouble than to age, since there was but a twelve-
month's difference between them.

" Well, my dear sister," said the New Year,
after the first salutations, " you look almost
tired to death. What have you been about
during your sojourn in this part of Infinite
Space?"

" O, I have it all recorded here in my Book
of Chronicles," answered the Old Year in a
heavy tone. " There is nothing that would
amuse you ; and you will soon get sufficient
knowledge of such matters from your own per-
sonal experience. It is but tiresome reading."

138

THE SISTER YEARS

Nevertheless, she turned over the leaves of
the folio, and glanced at them by the light of
the moon, feeling an irresistible spell of interest
in her own biography, although its incidents
were remembered without pleasure. The vol-
ume, though she termed it her Book of Chroni-
cles, seemed to be neither more nor less than
the Salem Gazette for 1838 ; in the accuracy of
which journal this sagacious Old Year had so
much confidence that she deemed it needless to
record her history with her own pen.

" What have you been doing in the political
way ? " asked the New Year.

" Why, my course here in the United States,"
said the Old Year, — " though perhaps I ought
to blush at the confession, — my political
course, I must acknowledge, has been rather
vacillatory, sometimes inclining towards the
Whigs — then causing the Administration party
to shout for triumph — and now again upHfting
what seemed the almost prostrate banner of the
Opposition ; so that historians will hardly know
what to make of me in this respect. But the
Loco Focos " —

" I do not like these party nicknames," in-
terrupted her sister, who seemed remarkably
touchy about some points. " Perhaps we shall
part in better humor if we avoid any political
discussion."

" With all my heart," replied the Old Year,
139

TWICE-TOLD TALES

who had already been tormented half to death
with squabbles of this kind. " I care not if the
names of Whig or Tory, with their intermin-
able brawls about Banks and the Sub-Treasury,
Abolition, Texas, the Florida War, and a mil-
lion of other topics — which you will learn soon
enough for your own comfort — I care not, I
say, if no whisper of these matters ever reaches
my ears again. Yet they have occupied so large
a share of my attention that I scarcely know
what else to tell you. There has indeed been
a curious sort of war on the Canada border,
where blood has streamed in the names of Lib-
erty and Patriotism ; but it must remain for
some future, perhaps far distant Year, to tell
whether or no those holy names have been
rightfully invoked. Nothing so much depresses
me, in my view of mortal affairs, as to see high
energies wasted, and human life and happiness
thrown away, for ends that appear oftentimes
unwise, and still oftener remain unaccomplished.
But the wisest people and the best keep a stead-
fast faith that the progress of Mankind is on-
ward and upward, and that the toil and anguish
of the path serve to wear away the imperfec-
tions of the Immortal Pilgrim, and will be felt
no more when they have done their office."

" Perhaps," cried the hopeful New Year, —
" perhaps I shall see that happy day ! "

" I doubt whether it be so close at hand,''
140

THE SISTER YEARS

answered the Old Year, gravely smiling. " You
will soon grow weary of looking for that blessed
consummation, and will turn for amusement (as
has frequently been my own practice) to the
affairs of some sober little city, like this of Sa-
lem. Here we sit on the steps of the new City
Hall, which has been completed under my ad-
ministration ; and it would make you laugh to
see how the game of politics, of which the Cap-
itol at Washington is the great chessboard, is
here played in miniature. Burning Ambition
finds its fuel here ; here Patriotism speaks boldly
in the people's behalf, and virtuous Economy
demands retrenchment in the emoluments of
a lamplighter ; here the Aldermen range their
senatorial dignity around the Mayor's chair of
state, and the Common Council feel that they
have liberty in charge. In short, human weak-
ness and strength,, passion and policy, Man's
tendencies, his aims and modes of pursuing
them., his individual character and his character
in the mass, may be studied almost as well here
as on the theatre of nations : and with this great
advantage, that, be the lesson ever so disastrous,
its Liliputian scope still makes the beholder
smile."

" Have you done much for the improvement
of the City ? " asked the New Year. " Judg-
ing from what little I have seen, it appears to
be ancient and time-worn."
141

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" I have opened the Railroad/' said the elder
Year, " and half a dozen times a day you will
hear the bell (which once summoned the
Monks of a Spanish Convent to their devo-
tions) announcing the arrival or departure of
the cars. Old Salem now wears a much live-
lier expression than when I first beheld her.
Strangers rumble down from Boston by hun-
dreds at a time. New faces throng in Essex
Street. Railroad hacks and omnibuses rattle
over the pavements. There is a perceptible
increase of oyster-shops, and other establish-
ments for the accommodation of a transitory
diurnal multitude. But a more important
change awaits the venerable town. An im-
mense accumulation of musty prejudices will
be carried off by the free circulation of society.
A peculiarity of character, of which the inhab-
itants themselves are hardly sensible, will be
rubbed down and worn away by the attrition
of foreign substances. Much of the result will
be good ; there will likewise be a few things not
so good. Whether for better or worse, there
will be a probable diminution of the moral
influence of wealth, and the sway of an aristo-
cratic class, which, from an era far beyond my
memory, has held firmer dominion here than
in any other New England town."

The Old Year having talked away nearly all
of her little remaining breath, now closed her
142

I

THE SISTER YEARS

Book of Chronicles, and was about to take her
departure. But her sister detained her awhile
longer, by inquiring the contents of the huge
bandbox which she was so painfully lugging
along with her.

" These are merely a few trifles," replied the
Old Year, " which I have picked up in my
rambles, and am going to deposit in the recep-
tacle of things past and forgotten. We sis-
terhood of Years never carry anything really
valuable out of the world with us. Here are
patterns of most of the fashions which I brought
into vogue, and which have already lived out
their allotted term. You will supply their place
with others equally ephemeral. Here, put up
in little china pots, like rouge, is a considerable
lot of beautiful women's bloom, which the
disconsolate fair ones owe me a bitter grudge
for stealing. I have likewise . a quantity of
men's dark hair, instead of which, I have left
gray locks, or none at all. The tears of widows
and other afflicted mortals, who have received
comfort during the last twelve months, are pre-
served in some dozens of essence bottles, well
corked and sealed. I have several bundles of
love letters, eloquently breathing an eternity
of burning passion, which grew cold and per-
ished almost before the ink was dry. More-
over, here is an assortment of many thousand
broken promises, and other broken ware, all
H3

TWICE-TOLD TALES

very light and packed into little space. The
heaviest articles in my possession are a large
parcel of disappointed hopes, which a little
while ago were buoyant enough to have inflated
Mr. Lauriat's balloon."

" I have a fine lot of hopes here in my bas-
ket," remarked the New Year. " They are a
sweet-smelling flower — a species of rose."

" They soon lose their perfume," replied
the sombre Old Year. " What else have you
brought to insure a welcome from the discon-
tented race of mortals ? "

" Why, to say the truth, little or nothing
else," said her sister with a smile, — " save a
few new Annuals and Almanacs, and some New
Year*s gifts for the children. But I heartily
wish well to poor mortals, and mean to do all
Lean for their improvement and happiness."

" It is a good resolution," rejoined the Old
Year ; " and, by the way, I have a plentiful as-
sortment of good resolutions, which have now
grown so stale and musty that I am ashamed
to carry them any farther. Only for fear that
the City authorities would send Constable
Mansfield with a warrant after me, I should
toss them into the street at once. Many other
matters go to make up the contents of my
bandbox, but the whole lot would not fetch a
single bid, even at an auction of worn-out fur-
niture ; and as they are worth nothing either
144

THE SISTER YEARS

to you or anybody else, I need not trouble you
with a longer catalogue."

" And must I also pick up such worthless
luggage in my travels ? " asked the New Year.

" Most certainly — and well, if you have no
heavier load to bear," replied the other. " And
now, my dear sister, I must bid you farewell,
earnestly advising and exhorting you to expect
no gratitude nor goodwill from this peevish,
unreasonable, inconsiderate, ill-intending, and
worse-behaving world. However warmly its
inhabitants may seem to- welcome you, yet, do
what you may, and lavish on them what means
of happiness you please, they will still be com-
plaining, still craving what it is not in your
power to give, still looking forward to some
other Year for the accomplishment of projects
which ought never to have been formed, and
which, if successful, would only provide new
occasions of discontent. If these ridiculous
people ever see anything tolerable in you, it
will be after you are gone forever." .

" But I," cried the fresh-hearted New Year,
— "I shall try to leave men wiser than I find
them. I will offer them freely whatever good
gifts Providence permits me to distribute, and
will tell them to be thankful for what they
have, and humbly hopeful for more ; and
surely, if they are not absolute fools, they will
condescend to be happy, and will allow me to
145

TWICE-TOLD TALES

be a happy Year. For my. happiness must
depend on them."

" Alas for you, then, my poor sister ! " said
the Old Year, sighing, as she uplifted her bur-
den. " We, grandchildren of Time, are born
to trouble. Happiness, they say, dwells in the
mansions of Eternity ; but we can only lead
mortals thither, step by step, with reluctant
murmurings, and ourselves must perish on the
threshold. But hark ! my task is done."

The clock in the tall steeple of Dr. Emer-
son's church struck -twelve ; there was a re-
sponse from Dr. Flint's, in the opposite quarter
of the city ; and while the strokes were yet
dropping into the air, the Old Year either flitted
or faded away, — and not the wisdom and might
of Angels, to say nothing of the remorseful
yearnings of the millions who had used her ill,
could have prevailed with that departed Year to
return one step. But she, in the company of
Time and all her kindred, must hereafter hold
a reckoning with Mankind. So shall it be,
likewise, with the maidenly New Year, who, as
the clock ceased to strike, arose from the steps
of the City Hall, and set out rather timorously
on her earthly course.

" A happy New Year ! " cried a watchman,
eyeing her figure very questionably, but without
the least suspicion that he was addressing the
New Year in person.

146

I

THE SISTER YEARS

" Thank you kindly ! " said the New Year ;
and she gave the watchman one of the roses of
hope from her basket. " May this flower keep
a sweet smell, long after I have bidden you
good-by.'*

Then she stepped on more briskly through
the silent streets ; and such as were awake at the
moment heard her footfall, and said, — " The
New Year is come ! " Wherever there was a
knot of midnight roisterers they quaflred her
health. She sighed, however, to perceive that
the air was tainted — as the atmosphere of this
world must continually be — with the dying
breaths of mortals who had lingered just long
enough for her to bury them. But there were
millions left alive to rejoice at her coming ; and
so she pursued her way with confidence, strew-
ing emblematic flowers on the doorstep of al-
most every dwelling, which some persons will
gather up and wear in their bosoms, and others
will trample under foot. The Carrier Boy can
only say further that, early this morning, she
filled his basket with New Year's Addresses,
assuring him that the whole City, with our new
Mayor and the Aldermen and Common Coun-'
cil at its head, would make a general rush to
secure copies. Kind Patrons, will not you re-
deem the pledge of the NEW YEAR ?
147

SNOWFLAKES .

THERE is snow in yonder cold gray
sky of the morning ! — and, through
the partially frosted window-panes, I
love to watch the gradual beginning of the
storm. A few feathery flakes are scattered
widely through the air, and hover downward
with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on
the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote
regions of the atmosphere. These are not the
big flakes, heavy with moisture, which melt as
they touch the ground, and are portentous of
a soaking rain. It is to be, in good earnest, a
wintry storm. The two or three people visible
on the sidewalks have an aspect of endurance,
a blue-nosed, frosty fortitude, which is evidently
assumed in anticipation of a comfortless and
blustering day. By nightfall, or at least before
the sun sheds another glimmering smile upon
us, the street and our little garden will be heaped
with mountain snowdrifts. The soil, already
frozen for weeks past, is prepared to sustain
whatever burden may be laid upon it ; and, to
a northern eye,- the landscape will lose its mel-
ancholy bleakness and acquire a beauty of its
own, when Mother Earth, like her children,
148

SNOWFLAKES

shall have put on the jfleecy garb of her winter's
wear. The cloud spirits are slowly weaving her
white mantle. As yet, indeed, there is barely
a rime like hoarfrost over the brown surface of
the street ; the withered grass of the grass-plat
is still discernible ; and the slated roofs of the
houses do but begin to look gray instead of
black. All the snow that has yet fallen within
the circumference of my view, were it heaped
up together, would hardly equal the hillock of
a grave. Thus gradually, by silent and stealthy
influences, are great changes wrought. These
little snow particles, which the storm spirit flings
by handfuls through the air, will bury the great
earth under their accumulated mass, nor permit
her to behold her sister sky again for dreary
months. We, likewise, shall lose sight of our
mother's familiar visage, and must content our-
selves with looking heavenward the oftener.

Now, leaving the storm to do his appointed
office, let us sit down, pen in hand, by our fire-
side. Gloomy as it may seem, there is an in-
fluence productive of cheerfulness, and favorable
to imaginative thought, in the atmosphere of
a snowy day. The native of a southern clime
may woo the muse beneath the heavy shade of
summer foliage, recHning on banks of turf, while
the sound of singing birds and warbling rivulets
chimes in with the music of his soul. In our
brief summer, I do not think, but only exist in
149

TWICE-TOLD TALES

the vague enjoyment of a dream. My hour
of inspiration — if that hour ever comes — is
when the green log hisses upon the hearth, and
the bright flame, brighter for the gloom of the
chamber, rustles high up the chimney, and the
coals drop tinkling down among the glowing
heaps of ashes. When the casement rattles in
the gust, and the snowflakes or the sleety rain-
drops pelt hard against the window-panes, then
I spread out my sheet of paper, with the cer-
tainty that thoughts and fancies will gleam forth
upon it like stars at twilight, or like violets in
May, — perhaps to fade as soon. However
transitory their glow, they at least shine amid
the darksome shadow which the clouds of the
outward sky fling through the room. Blessed,
therefore, and reverently welcomed by me, her
true-born son, be New England's winter, which
makes us, one and all, the nurslings of the
storm, and sings a familiar lullaby even in the
wildest shriek of the December blast. Now
look we forth again, and see how much of his
task the storm spirit has done.

Slow and sure ! He has the day, perchance
the week, before him, and may take his own
time to accomplish Nature's burial in snow. A
smooth mantle is scarcely yet thrown over the
withered grass-plat, and the dry stocks of an-
nuals still thrust themselves through the white
surface in all parts of the garden. The leafless
150

SNOWFLAKES

rosebushes stand shivering in a shallow snow-
drift, looking, poor things ! as disconsolate as
if they possessed a human consciousness of the
dreary scene. This is a sad time for the shrubs
that do not perish with the summer ; they
neither live nor die ; what they retain of life
seems but the chilling sense of death. Very
sad are the flower shrubs in midwinter ! The
roofs of the houses are now all white, save where
the eddying wind has kept them bare at the
bleak corners. To discern the real intensity of
the storm, we must fix upon some distant ob-
ject, — as yonder spire, — and observe how the
riotous gust fights with the descending snow
throughout the intervening space. Sometimes
the entire prospect is obscured ; then, again, we
have a distinct, but transient, glimpse of the tall
steeple, like a giant's ghost ; and now the dense
wreaths sweep between, as if demons were fling-
ing snowdrifts at each other in mid-air. Look
next into the street, where we have an amusing
parallel to the combat of those fancied demons
in the upper regions. It is a snow battle of
schoolboys. What a pretty satire on war and
military glory might be written, in the form of
a child's story, by describing the snowball fights
of two rival schools, the alternate defeats and
victories of each, and the final triumph of one
party, or perhaps of neither ! What pitched bat-
tles, worthy to be chanted in Homeric strains I
151

TWICE-TOLD TALES

What storming of fortresses, built all of massive
snow blocks ! What feats of individual prowess,
and embodied onsets of martial enthusiasm !
And when some well-contested and decisive
victory had put a period to the war, both armies
should unite to build a lofty monument of snow
upon the battlefield and crown it with the vic-
tor's statue, hewn of the same frozen marble. In
a few days or weeks thereafter the passer-by
would observe a shapeless mound upon the
level common ; and, unmindful of the famous
victory, would ask, — " How came it there ?
Who reared it ? And what means it ? '* The
shattered pedestal of many a battle monument
has provoked these questions when none could
answer.

Turn we again to the fireside, and sit musing
there, lending our ears to the wind, till perhaps
it shall seem like an articulate voice, and dictate
wild and airy matter for the pen. Would it
might inspire me to sketch out the personifica-
tion of a New England winter ! And that idea,
if I can seize the snow-wreathed figures that flit
before my fancy, shall be the theme of the next
page.

How does Winter herald his approach ? By
the shrieking blast of later autumn, which is
Nature's cry of lamentation, as the destroyer
rushes among the shivering groves where she
has lingered, and scatters the sear leaves upon
152

SNOWFLAKES

the tempest. When that cry is heard, the
people wrap themselves in cloaks, and shake
their heads disconsolately, saying, — " Winter
is at hand ! '* Then the axe of the woodcutter
echoes sharp and diligently in the forest ; then
the coal merchants rejoice, because each shriek
of Nature in her agony adds something to the
price of coal per ton ; then the peat smoke
spreads its aromatic fragrance through the atmo-
sphere. A few days more ; and at eventide the
children look out of the window, and dimly
perceive the flaunting of a snowy mantle in the
air. It is stern Winter's vesture. They crowd
around the hearth, and cling to their mother's
gown, or press between their father's knees,
affrighted by the hollow roaring voice that bel-
lows adown the wide flue of the chimney. It
is the voice of Winter ; and when parents and
children hear it, they shudder and exclaim, —
" Winter is come ! Cold Winter has begun
his reign already ! " Now, throughout New
England, each hearth becomes an altar, sending
up the smoke of a continued sacrifice to the
immitigable deity who tyrannizes over forest,
country side, and town. Wrapped in his white
mantle, his staff a huge icicle, his beard and
hair a wind-tossed snowdrift, he travels over
the land, in the midst of the northern blast ;
and woe to the homeless wanderer whom he
finds upon his path ! There he lies stark and
153

TWICE-TOLD TALES

stiff, a human shape of ice, on the spot where
Winter overtook him. On strides the tyrant
over the rushing rivers and broad lakes, which
turn to rock beneath his footsteps. His dreary
empire is established ; all around stretches the
desolation of the Pole. Yet not ungrateful
be his New England children — for Winter is
our sire, though a stern and rough one — not
ungrateful even for the severities which have
nourished our unyielding strength of character.
And let us thank him, too, for the sleigh-rides,
cheered by the music of merry bells — for the
crackling and rustling hearth, when the ruddy
firelight gleams on hardy Manhood and the
blooming cheek of Woman — for all the home
enjoyments, and the kindred virtues, which
flourish in a frozen soil. Not that we grieve,
when, after some seven months of storm and
bitter frost. Spring, in the guise of a flower-
crowned virgin, is seen driving away the hoary
despot, pelting him with violets by the handful,
and strewing green grass on the path behind
him. Often, ere he will give up his empire,
old Winter rushes fiercely back, and hurls a
snowdrift at the shrinking form of Spring ; yet,
step by step, he is compelled to retreat north-
ward, and spends the summer months within
the Arctic circle.

Such fantasies, intermixed among graver toils
of mind, have made the winter's day pass plea-
154

SNOWFLAKES

santly. Meanwhile, the storm has raged with-
out abatement, and now, as the brief afternoon
declines, is tossing denser volumes to and fro
about the atmosphere. On the window-sill
there is a layer of snow reaching halfway up
the lowest pane of glass. The garden is one
unbroken bed. Along the street are two or
three spots of uncovered earth, where the gust
has whirled away the snow, heaping it elsewhere
to the fence-tops, or piling huge banks against
the doors of houses. A solitary passenger is
seen, now striding mid-leg deep across a drift,
now scudding over the bare ground, while his
cloak is swollen with the wind. And now the
jingling of bells, a sluggish sound, responsive
to the horse's toilsome progress through the
unbroken drifts, announces the passage of a
sleigh, with a boy clinging behind, and ducking
his head to escape detection by the driver. Next
comes a sledge, laden with wood for some un-
thrifty housekeeper, whom winter has surprised
at a cold hearth. But what dismal equipage
now struggles along the uneven street ? A
sable hearse, bestrewn with snow, is bearing a
dead man through the storm to his frozen bed.
O, how dreary is a burial in winter, when the
bosom- of Mother Earth has no warmth for her
poor child !

Evening — the early eve of December — be-
gins to spread its deepening veil over the com-
155

TWICE-TOLD TALES

fortless scene, the firelight gradually brightens,,
and throws my flickering shadow upon the walls
and ceiling of the chamber ; but still the storm
rages and rattles against the windows. Alas ! I
shiver, and think it time to be disconsolate.
But, taking a farewell glance at dead Nature in
her shroud, I perceive a flock of snowbirds
skimming lightsomely through the tempest,
and flitting from drift to drift, as sportively as
swallows in the delightful prime of summer.
Whence come they ? Where do they build their
nests and seek their food ? Why, having airy
wings, do they not follow summer around the
earth, instead of making themselves the play-
mates of the storm, and fluttering on the dreary
verge of the winter's eve ? I know not whence
they come, nor why ; yet my spirit has been
cheered by that wandering flock of snowbirds.

156

i

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

RAMBLING on foot in the spring of
my life and the summer of the year, I
came one afternoon to a point which
gave me the choice of three directions. Straight
before me, the main road extended its dusty
length to Boston ; on the left, a branch went
towards the sea, and would have lengthened my
journey a trifle of twenty or thirty miles ; while,
by the right-hand path, I might have gone over
hills and lakes to Canada, visiting in my way
the celebrated town of Stamford. On a level
spot of grass, at the foot of the guidepost, ap-
peared an object which, though locomotive on
a different principle, reminded me of Gulliver's
portable mansion among the Brobdignags. It
was a huge covered wagon, or, more properly,
a small house on wheels, with a door on one
side and a window shaded by green blinds on
the other. Two horses, munching provender
out of the baskets which muzzled them, were
fastened near the vehicle : a delectable sound of
music proceeded from the interior ; and I im-
mediately conjectured that this was some itiner-
ant show halting at the confluence of the roads
to intercept such idle travellers as myself. A
157

TWICE-TOLD TALES

shower had long been climbing up the western
sky, and now hung so blackly over my onward
path that it was a point of wisdom to seek shel-
ter here.

" Halloo ! Who stands guard here ? Is the
doorkeeper asleep ? '' cried I, approaching a lad-
der of two or three steps which was let down
from the wagon.

The music ceased at my summons, and there
appeared at the door, not the sort of figure
that I had mentally assigned to the wandering
showman, but a most respectable old person-
age, whom I was sorry to have addressed in so
free a style. He wore a snuif-colored coat and
smallclothes, with white top-boots, and exhib-
ited the mild dignity of aspect and manner
which may often be noticed in aged schoolmas-
ters, and sometimes in deacons, selectmen, or
other potentates of that kind. A small piece
of silver was my passport within his premises,
where I found only one other person, hereafter
to be described.

" This is a dull day for business," said the
old gentleman, as he ushered me in ; " but I
merely tarry here to refresh the cattle, being
bound for the camp-meeting at Stamford."

Perhaps the movable scene of this narrative
is still peregrinating New England, and may
enable the reader to test the accuracy of my
description. The spectacle — for I will not use

158

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

the unworthy term of puppet show — consisted
of a multitude of little people assembled on a
miniature stage. Among them were artisans of
every kind, in the attitudes of their toil, and a
group of fair ladies and gay gentlemen standing
ready for the dance ; a company of foot-sol-
diers formed a line across the stage, looking
stern, grim, and terrible enough, to make it a
pleasant consideration that they were but three
inches high ; and conspicuous above the whole
was seen a Merry Andrew, in the pointed cap
and motley coat of his profession. All the in-
habitants of this mimic world were motionless,
like the figures in a picture, or like that people
who one moment were alive in the midst of
their business and delights, and the next were
transformed to statues, preserving an eternal
semblance of labor that was ended, and pleasure
that .could be felt no more. Anon, however,
the old gentleman turned the handle of a barrel
organ, the first note of which produced a most
enlivening effect upon the figures, and awoke
them all to their proper occupations and amuse-
ments. By the self-same impulse the tailor
plied his needle, the blacksmith's hammer de-
scended upon the anvil, and the dancers whirled
away on feathery tiptoes ; the company of sol-
diers broke into platoons, retreated from the
stage, and were succeeded by a troop of horse,
who came prancing onward with such a sound
159

TWICE-TOLD TALES

of trumpets and trampling of hoofs as might
have startled Don Quixote himself; while an
old toper, of inveterate ill habits, uplifted his
black bottle and took off a hearty swig. Mean-
time the Merry Andrew began to caper and
turn somersets, shaking his sides, nodding his
head, and winking his eyes in as lifelike a man-
ner as if he were ridiculing the nonsense of all
human affairs, and making fun of the whole
multitude beneath him. At length the old
magician (for I compared the showman to Pro-
spero entertaining his guests with a mask of
shadows) paused, that I might give utterance
to my wonder.

" What an admirable piece of work is this ! '*
exclaimed I, lifting up my hands in astonish-
ment.

Indeed, I liked the spectacle, and was tickled
with the old man's gravity as he presided at it,
for I had none of that foolish wisdom which
reproves every occupation that is not useful in
this world of vanities. If there be a faculty
which I possess more perfectly than most men,
it is that of throwing myself mentally into situ-
ations foreign to my own, and detecting, with a
cheerful eye, the desirable circumstances of each.
I could have envied the life of this gray-headed
showman, spent as it had been in a course of
safe and pleasurable adventure, in driving his
huge vehicle sometimes through the sands of
i6o

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

Cape Cod, and sometimes over the rough for-
est roads of the north and east, and halting now
on the green before a village meeting-house,
and now in a paved square of the metropolis.
How often must his heart have been gladdened
by the delight of children as they viewed these
animated figures ! or his pride indulged by
haranguing learnedly to grown men on the
mechanical powers which produced such won-
derful effects, or his gallantry brought into play
(for this is an attribute which such grave men
do not lack) by the visits of pretty maidens !
And then with how fresh a feeling must he re-
turn, at intervals, to his own peculiar home !

" I would I were assured of as happy a life
as his," thought I.

Though the showman's wagon might have
accommodated fifteen or twenty spectators, it
now contained only himself and me, and a third
person at whom I threw a glance on entering.
He was a neat and thin young man of two or
three and twenty ; his drab hat, and green frock
coat with velvet collar, were smart, though no
longer new; while a pair of green spectacles, that
seemed needless to his brisk little eyes, gave
him something of a scholar-like and literary air.
After allowing me a sufficient time to inspect
the puppets, he advanced with a bow, and drew
my attention to some books in a corner of the
wagon. These he forthwith began to extol with
i6i

TWICE-TOLD TALES

an amazing volubility of well-sounding words,
and an ingenuity of praise, that won him my
heart, as being myself one of the most merciful
of critics. Indeed, his stock required some con-
siderable powers of commendation in the sales-
man ; there were several ancient friends of mine,
the novels of those happy days when my affec-
tions wavered between the Scottish Chiefs and
Thomas Thumb ; besides a few of later date,
whose merits had not been acknowledged by
the public. I was glad to find that dear little
venerable volume, the New England Primer,
looking as antique as ever, though in its thou-
sandth new edition ; a bundle of superannuated
gilt picture-books made such a child of me, that
partly for ,the glittering covers, and partly for
the fairy tales within, I bought the whole ; and
an assortment of ballads and popular theatrical
songs drew largely on my purse. To balance
these expenditures, I meddled neither with ser-
mons, nor science, nor morality, though vol-
umes of each were there ; nor with a Life of
Franklin in the coarsest of paper, but so show-
ily bound that it was emblematical of the Doc-
tor himself, in the court-dress which he refused
to wear at Paris ; nor with Webster's Spelling-
Book, nor some of Byron's minor poems, nor
half a dozen little Testaments at twenty-five
cents each.

Thus far the collection might have been
162

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

swept from some great bookstore, or picked up
at an evening auction-room ; but there was one
small blue-covered pamphlet, which the pedlar
handed me with so peculiar an air, that I pur-
chased it immediately at his own price ; and
then, for the first time, the thought struck me,
that I had spoken face to face with the veritable
author of a printed book. The literary man
now evinced a great kindness for me, and I ven-
tured to inquire which way he was travelling.

" O," said he, " I keep company with this
old gentleman here, and we are moving now
towards the camp-meeting at Stamford."

He then explained to me that for the present
season he had rented a corner of the wagon as
a bookstore, which, as he wittily observed, was a
true Circulating Library, since there were few
parts of the country where it had not gone its
rounds. I approved of the plan exceedingly,
and began to sum up within my mind the
many uncommon felicities in the life of a book
pedlar, especially when his character resembled
that of the individual before me. At a high
rate was to be reckoned the daily and hourly
enjoyment of such interviews as the present, in
which he seized upon the admiration of a pass-
ing stranger, and made him aware that a man
of literary taste, and even of literary achieve-
ment, was travelling the country in a showman's
wagon. A more valuable, yet not infrequent,
163

TWICE-TOLD TALES

triumph might be won in his conversations
with some elderly clergyman, long vegetating in
a rocky, woody, watery back settlement of New
England, who, as he recruited his library from
the pedlar*s stock of sermons, would exhort him
to seek a college education and become the first
scholar in his class. Sweeter and prouder yet
would be his sensations when, talking poetry
while he sold spelling-books, he should charm
the mind, and haply touch the heart, of a fair
country schoolmistress, herself an unhonored
poetess, a wearer of blue stockings which none
but himself took pains to look at. But the
scene of his completest glory would be when the
wagon had halted for the night, and his stock
of books was transferred to some crowded bar-
room. Then would he recommend to the mul-
tifarious company, whether traveller from the
city, or teamster from the hills, or neighboring
squire, or the landlord himself, or his loutish
hostler, works suited to each particular taste
and capacity ; proving, all the while, by acute
criticism and profound remark, that the lore-
in his books was even exceeded by that in his
brain.

Thus happily would he traverse the land ;
sometimes a herald before the march of Mind ;
sometimes walking arm in arm with awful Lit-
erature ; and reaping everywhere a harvest of
real and sensible popularity, which the secluded
164

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

bookworms, by whose toil he hved, could never
hope for.

" If ever I meddle with literature," thought
I, fixing myself in adamantine resolution, " it
shall be as a travelling bookseller."

Though it was still mid-afternoon, the air had
now grown dark about us, and a few drops of
rain came down upon the roof of our vehicle,
pattering like the feet of birds that had flown
thither to rest. A sound of pleasant voices
made us listen, and there soon appeared half-
way up the ladder the pretty person of a young
damsel, whose rosy face was so cheerful that
even amid the gloomy light, it seemed as if the
sunbeams were peeping under her bonnet. We
next saw the dark and handsome features of
a young man, who, with easier gallantry than
might have been expected in the heart of Yan-
kee land, was assisting her into the wagon. It
became immediately evident to us, when the
two strangers stood within the door, that they
were of a profession kindred to those of my
companions ; and I was delighted with the more
than hospitable, the even paternal, kindness of
the old showman's manner, as he welcomed
them ; while the man of literature hastened to
lead the merry-eyed girl to a seat on the long
bench.

" You are housed but just in time, my young
friends," said the master of the wagon. " The

165

TWICE-TOLD TALES

sky would have been down upon you within five
minutes."

The young man's reply marked him as a for-
eigner, not by any variation from the idiom and
accent of good English, but because he spoke
with more caution and accuracy than if perfectly
familiar with the language.

" We knew that a shower was hanging over
us," said he, " and consulted whether it were
best to enter the house on the top of yonder
hill, but seeing your wagon in the road " —

" We agreed to come hither," interrupted the
girl with a smile, " because we should be more
at home in a wandering house like this."

I meanwhile, with m^ny a wild and undeter-
mined - fantasy, was narrowly inspecting these
two doves that had flown into our ark. The
young man, tall, agile, and athletic, wore a r^ass
of black, shining curls clustering round a dark
and vivacious countenance, which, if it had not
greater expression, was at least more active, and
attracted readier notice, than .the quiet faces of
our countrymen. At his first appearance he had
been laden with a neat mahogany box, of about
two feet square, but very light in proportion to
its size, which he had immediately unstrapped
from his shoulders and deposited on the floor
of the wagon.

The girl had nearly as fair a complexion as
our own beauties, and a brighter one than most
i66

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

of them ; the lightness of her figure, which
seemed calculated to traverse the whole world
without weariness, suited well with the glowing
cheerfulness of her face ; and her gay attire,
combining the rainbow hues of crimson, green,
and a deep orange, was as proper to her light-
some aspect as if she had been born in it. This
gay stranger was appropriately burdened with
that mirth-inspiring instrument, the fiddle,
which her companion took from her hands, and
shortly began the process of tuning. Neither
of us — the previous company of the wagon —
needed to inquire their trade ; for this could be
no mystery to frequenters of brigade musters,
ordinations, cattle-shows, commencements, and
other festal meetings in our sober land ; and
there is a dear friend of mine who will smile
when this page recalls to his memory a chival-
rous deed performed by us, in rescuing the
showbox of such a couple from a mob of great
double-fisted countrymen.

" Come," said I to the damsel of gay attire,
" shall we visit all the wonders of the world
together ? "

She understood the metaphor at once ; though
indeed it would not much have troubled me if
she had assented to the literal meaning of my
words. The mahogany box was placed in a
proper position, and I peeped in through its
small round magnifying window, while the girl
167

TWICE-TOLD TALES

sat by my side, and gave short descriptive
sketches, as one after another the pictures were
unfolded to my view. We visited together, at
least our imaginations did, full many a famous
city, in the streets of which I had long yearned
to tread; once, I remember, we were in the
harbor of Barcelona, gazing townwards ; next,
she bore me through the air to Sicily, and bade
me look up at blazing ^Etna ; then we took
wing to Venice, and sat in a gondola beneath the
arch of the Rialto ; and anon she sat me down
among the thronged spectators at the corona-
tion of Napoleon. But there was one scene, its
locality she could not tell, which charmed my
attention longer than all those gorgeous palaces
and churches, because the fancy haunted me that
I myself, the preceding summer, had beheld
just such a humble meeting-house, in just such
a pine-surrounded nook, among our own green
mountains. All these pictures were tolerably
executed, though far inferior to the girl's touches
of description ; nor was it easy to comprehend
how, in so few sentences, and these, as I sup-
posed, in a language foreign to her, she con-
trived to present an airy copy of each varied
scene. When we had travelled through the
vast extent of the mahogany box, I looked into
my guide's face.

" Where are you going, my pretty maid ? "
inquired I, in the words of an old song.
i68

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

** Ah,** said the gay damsel, " you might as
well ask where the summer wind is going. We
are wanderers here, and there, and everywhere.
Wherever there is mirth, our merry hearts are
drawn to it. To-day, indeed, the people have
told us of a great frolic and festival in these
parts ; so perhaps we may be needed at what
you call the camp-meeting at Stamford."

Then in my happy youth, and while her
pleasant voice yet sounded in my ears, I sighed ;
for none but myself, I thought, should have
been her companion in a life which seemed to
realize my own wild fancies, cherished all
through visionary boyhood to that hour. To
these two strangers the world was in its golden
age, not that indeed it was less dark and sad
than ever, but because its weariness and sorrow
had no community with their ethereal nature.
Wherever they might appear in their pilgrimage
of bliss, Youth would echo back their gladness,
care-stricken Maturity would rest a moment
from its toil, and Age, tottering among the
graves, would smile in withered joy for their
sakes. The lonely cot, the narrow and gloomy
street, the sombre shade, would catch a passing
gleam like that now shining on ourselves, as
these bright spirits wandered by. Blessed pair,
whose happy home was throughout all the earth !
I looked at my shoulders, and thought them
broad enough to sustain those pictured towns
i6q

TWICE-TOLD TALES

and mountains ; mine, too, was an elastic foot,
as tireless as the wing of the bird of paradise ;
mine was then an untroubled heart, that would
have gone singing on in its delightful way.

" O maiden ! " said I aloud, " why did you
not come hither alone ? "

While the merry girl and myself were busy
with the showbox, the unceasing rain had driven
another wayfarer into the wagon. He seemed
pretty nearly of the old showman's age, but
much smaller, leaner, and more withered than
he, and less respectably clad in a patched suit
of gray ; withal, he had a thin, shrewd counte-
nance, and a pair of diminutive gray eyes, which
peeped rather too l^enly out of their puckered
sockets. This old fellow had been joking with
the showman, in a manner which intimated pre-
vious acquaintance ; but perceiving that the
damsel and I had terminated our affairs, he
drew forth a folded document, and presented
it to me. As I had anticipated, it proved to
be a circular, written in a very fair and legible
hand, and signed by several distinguished gen-
tlemen whom I had never heard of, stating that
the bearer had encountered every variety of
misfortune, and recommending him to the no-
tice' of all charitable people. Previous disburse-
ments had left me no more than a five-dollar
bill, out of which, however, I offered to make
the beggar a donation, provided he would give
170

I

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

me change for it. The object of my beneficence
looked keenly in my face, and discerned that
I had none of that abominable spirit, charac-
teristic though it be, of a full-blooded Yankee,
which takes pleasure in detecting every little
harmless piece of knavery.

" Why, perhaps," said the ragged old mendi-
cant, " if the bank is in good standing, I can't
say but I mav have enough about me to change
your bill."

" It is a bill of the Suffolk Bank," said I,
" and better than the specie."

As the beggar had nothing to object, he now
produced a small buff-leather bag, tied up care-
fully with a shoestring. When this was opened,
there appeared a very comfortable treasure of
silver coins, of all sorts and sizes ; and I even
fancied that I saw, gleaming among them, the
golden plumage of that rare bird in our cur-
rency, the American Eagle. In this precious
heap was my banknote deposited, the rate of
exchange being considerably against me. His
wants being thus relieved, the destitute man
pulled out of his pocket an old pack of greasy
cards, which had probably contributed to fill
the buff-leather bag in more ways than one.

" Come," said he, " I spy a rare fortune in
your face, and for twenty-five cents more, I '11
tell you what it is."

I never refuse to take a glimpse into futurity ;
171

TWICE-TOLD TALES

so, after shuffling the cards, and when the fair
damsel had cut them, I dealt a portion to the
prophetic beggar. Like others of his profes-
sion, before predicting the shadowy events that
were moving on to meet me, he gave proof
of his preternatural science by describing scenes
through which I had already passed. Here let
me have credit for a sober fact. When the old
man had read a page in his book of fate, he
bent his keen gray eyes on mine, and proceeded
to relate, in all its minute particulars, what was
then the most singular event of my life. It
was one which I had no purpose- to disclose till
the general unfolding of all secrets ; nor would
it be a much stranger instance of inscrutable
knowledge, or fortune conjecture, if the beggar
were to meet me in the street to-day, and re-
peat, word for word, the page which I have
here written. The fortune-teller, after predict-
ing a destiny which Time seems loath to make
good, put up his cards, secreted his treasure-
bag, and began to converse with the other occu-
pants of the wagon.

" Well, old friend," said the showman, " you
have not yet told us which way your face is
turned this afternoon."

" I am taking a trip northward, this warm
weather," replied the conjurer, " across the
Connecticut first, and then up through Ver-
mont, and may be into Canada before the fall.
172

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

But I must stop and see the breaking up of
the camp-meeting at Stamford."

I began to think that all the vagrants in New
England were converging to the camp-meet-
ing, and had made this wagon their rendezvous
by the way. The showman now proposed
that, when the shower was over, they should
pursue the road to Stamford together, it being
sometimes the policy of these people to form
a sort of league and confederacy.

" And the young lady too,'* observed the
gallant bibliopolist, bowing to her profoundly,
" and this foreign gentleman, as I understand,
are on a jaunt of pleasure to the same spot. It
would add incalculably to my own enjoyment,
and I presume to that of my colleague and his
friend, if they could be prevailed upon to join
our party."

This arrangement met with approbation on
all hands, nor were any of those concerned more
sensible of its advantages than myself, who had
no title to be included in it. Having already
satisfied myself as to the several modes in which
the four others attained felicity, I next set my
mind at work to discover what enjoyments were
peculiar to the old " Straggler," as the people
of the country would have termed the wander-
ing mendicant and prophet. As he pretended
to familiarity with the Devil, so I fancied that
he was fitted to pursue and take delight in his
173

TWICE-TOLD TALES

way of life, by possessing some of the mental
and moral characteristics, the lighter and more
comic ones, of the Devil in popular stories.
Among them might be reckoned a love of
deception for its own sake, a shrewd eye and
keen relish for human weakness and ridiculous
infirmity, and the talent of petty fraud. Thus
to this old man there would be pleasure even
in the consciousness so insupportable to some
minds, that his whole life was a cheat upon the
world, and that, so far as he was concerned
with the public, his little cunning had the upper
hand of its united wisdom. Every day would
furnish him with a succession of minute and
pungent triumphs : as when, for instance, his
importunity wrung a pittance out of the heart
of a miser ; or when my silly good nature trans-
ferred a part of my slender purse to his plump
leather bag ; or when some ostentatious gentle-
man should throw a coin to the ragged beggar
who was richer than himself; or when, though
he would not always be so decidedly diabolical,
his pretended wants should make him a sharer
in the scanty living of real indigence. And
then what an inexhaustible field of enjoyment,
both as enabling him to discern so much folly
and achieve such quantities of minor mischief,
was opened to his sneering spirit by his preten-
sions to prophetic knowledge !

All this was a sort of happiness which I could
174

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

conceive of, though I had little sympathy with
it. Perhaps, had I been then inclined to admit
it, I might have found that the roving life was
more proper to him than to either of his com-
panions ; for Satan, to whom I had compared
the poor man, has delighted, ever since the time
of Job, in " wandering up and down upon the
earth ; " and indeed a crafty disposition which
operates not in deep-laid plans, but in discon-
nected tricks, could not have an adequate scope,
unless naturally impelled to a continual change
of scene and society. My reflections were here
interrupted.

" Another visitor ! " exclaimed the old show-
man.

The door of the wagon had been closed
against the tempest, which was roaring and
blustering with prodigious fury and commotion,
and beating violently against our shelter, as if
it claimed all those homeless people for its law-
ful prey, while we, caring little for the displea-
sure of the elements, sat comfortably talking.
There was now an attempt to open the door,
succeeded by a voice uttering some strange,
unintelligible gibberish, which my companions
mistook for Greek, and I suspected to be
thieves* Latin. However, the showman stepped
forward, and gave admittance to a figure which
made me imagine, either that our wagon had
rolled back two hundred years into past ages,
175

TWICE-TOLD TALES

or that the forest and its old inhabitants had
sprung up around us by enchantment.

It was a red Indian, armed with his bow and
arrow. His dress was a sort of cap, adorned
with a single feather of some wild bird, and a
frock of blue cotton girded tight about him ;
on his breast, like orders of knighthood, hung
a crescent and a circle, and other ornaments
of silver ; while a small crucifix betokened that
our Father the Pope had interposed between
the Indian and the Great Spirit, whom he had
worshipped in his simplicity. This son of the
wilderness and pilgrim of the storm took his
place silently in the midst of us. When the
first surprise was over, I rightly conjectured him
to be one of the Penobscot tribe, parties of
which I had often seen, in their summer excur-
sions down our eastern rivers. There they
paddle their birch canoes among the coasting-
schooners, and build their wigwam beside some
roaring mill-dam, and drive a little trade in bas-
ket-work where their fathers hunted deer. Our
new visitor was probably wandering through the
country towards Boston, subsisting on the care-
less charity of the people, while he turned his
archery to profitable account by shooting at
cents, which were to be the prize of his success-
ful aim.

The Indian had not long been seated ere our
merry damsel sought to draw him into conver-
176

I

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

sation. She, indeed, seemed all made up of
sunshine in the month of May ; for there was
nothing so dark and dismal that her pleasant
mind could not cast a glow over it ; and the
wild man, like a fir-tree in his native forest, soon
began to brighten into a sort of sombre cheer-
fulness. At length, she inquired whether his
journey had any particular end or purpose.

" I go shoot at the camp-meeting at Stam-
ford," replied the Indian.

" And here are five more," said the girl, " all
aiming at the camp-meeting too. You shall be
one of us, for we travel with light hearts ; and
as for me, I sing merry songs, and tell merry
tales, and am full of merry thoughts, and I
dance merrily along the road, so that there is
never any sadness among them that keep me
company. But, O, you would find it very
dull indeed to go all the way to Stamford
alone ! "

My ideas of the aboriginal character led me
to fear that the Indian would prefer his own
solitary musings to the gay society thus offered
him ; on the contrary, the girFs proposal met
with immediate acceptance, and seemed to ani-
mate him with a misty expectation of enjoy-
ment. I now gave myself up to a course of
thought which, whether it flowed naturally from
this combination of events, or was drawn forth
by a wayward fancy, caused my mind to thrill
177

TWICE-TOLD TALES

as if I were listening to deep music. I saw
mankind, in this weary old age of the world,
either enduring a sluggish existence amid the
smoke and dust of cities, or, if they breathed a
purer air, still lying down at night with no hope
but to wear out to-morrow, and all the to-mor-
rows which make up life, among the same dull
scenes and in the same wretched toil that had
darkened the sunshine of to-day. But there
were some, full of the primeval instinct, who
preserved the freshness of youth to their latest
years by the continual excitement of new ob-
jects, new pursuits, and new associates ; and
cared little, though their birthplace might have
been here in New England, if the grave should
close over them in Central Asia. Fate was
summoning a parliament of these free spirits ;
unconscious of the impulse which directed them
to a common centre, they had come hither from
far and near, and last of all appeared the repre-
sentative of those mighty vagrants who had
chased the deer during thousands of years, and
were chasing it now in the Spirit Land. Wan-
dering down through the waste of ages, the
woods had vanished around his path ; his arm
had lost somewhat of its strength, his foot of
Its fleetness, his mien of its wild regality, his
heart and mind of their savage virtue and
uncultured force ; but here, untamable to the
routine of artificial life, roving now along the

178

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

dusty road as of old over the forest leaves, here
was the Indian still.

" Well," said the old showman, In the midst
of my meditations, " here Is an honest company
of us — one, two, three, four, five, six — all
going to the camp-meeting at Stamford. Now,
hoping no offence, I should like to know where
this young gentleman may be going ? "

I started. How came I among these wan-
derers ? The free mind, that preferred its own
folly to another*s wisdom ; the open spirit, that
found companions everywhere ; above all, the
restless impulse, that had so often made me
wretched in the midst of enjoyments ; these
were my claims to be of their society. .

" My friends ! " cried I, stepping Into the
centre of the wagon, " I am going with you to
the camp-meeting at Stamford."

" But in what capacity ? " asked the old
showman, after a moment's silence. " All of
us here can get our bread in some creditable
way. Every honest man should have his liveli-
hood. You, sir, as I take It, are a mere stroll-
ing gentleman."

I proceeded to Inform the company that,
when Nature gave me a propensity to their way
of life, she had not left me altogether destitute
of qualifications for it ; though I could not deny
that my talent was less respectable, and might
be less profitable, than the meanest of theirs.
179

TWICE-TOLD TALES

My design, in short, was to imitate the story-
tellers of whom Oriental travellers have told
us, and become an itinerant novelist, reciting
my own extemporaneous fictions to such audi-
ences as I could collect.

" Either this," said I, " is my vocation, or I
have been born in vain."

The fortune-teller, with a sly wink to the
company, proposed to take me as an apprentice
to one or other of his professions, either of
which, undoubtedly, would have given full scope
to whatever inventive talent I might possess.
The bibliopolist spoke a few words in opposi-
tion to my plan, influenced partly, I suspect, by
the jealousy of authorship, and partly by an
apprehension that the viva voce practice would
become general among novelists, to the infi-
nite detriment of the book trade. Dreading a
rejection, I solicited the interest of the merry
damsel.

" Mirth," cried I, most aptly appropriating
the words of L* Allegro, " to thee I sue !
Mirth, admit me of thy crew ! "

" Let us indulge the poor youth," said
Mirth, with a kindness which made me love
her dearly, though I was no such coxcomb as
to misinterpret her motives. " I have espied
much promise in him. True, a shadow some-
times flits across his brow, but the sunshine is
sure to follow in a moment. He is never guilty
i8o

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

of a sad thought, but a merry one is twin"^born
with it. We will take him with us ; and you
shall see that he will set us all a-laughing be-
fore we reach the camp-meeting at Stamford."

Her voice silenced the scruples of the rest,
and gained me admittance into the league ;
according to the terms of which, without a
community of goods or profits, we were to lend
each other all the aid, and avert all the harm,
that might be in our power. This affair settled,
a marvellous jollity entered into the whole tribe
of us, manifesting itself characteristically in each
individual. The old showman, sitting down to
his barrel organ, stirred up the souls of the
pygmy people with one of the quickest tunes
in the music-book ; tailors, blacksmiths, gentle-
men and ladies, all seemed to share in the spirit
of the occasion ; and the Merry Andrew played
his part more facetiously than ever, nodding
and winking particularly at me. The young
foreigner flourished his fiddle-bow with a mas-
ter's hand, and gave an inspiring echo to the
showman's melody. The bookish man and the
merry damsel started up simultaneously to
dance ; the former enacting the double shuffle
in a style which everybody must have witnessed
ere Election week was blotted out of time ;
while the girl, setting her arms akimbo with
both hands at her slim waist, displayed such
light rapidity of foot, and harmony of varying
i8i

TWICE-TOLD TALES

attitude and motion, that I could not conceive
how she ever was to stop ; imagining, at the
moment, that Nature had made her, as the old
showman had made his puppets, for no earthly-
purpose but to dance jigs. The Indian bel-
lowed forth a succession of most hideous out-
cries, somewhat affrighting us till we interpreted
them as the war-song, with which, in imitation
of his ancestors, he was prefacing the assault
on Stamford. The conjurer, meanwhile, sat
demurely in a corner, extracting a sly enjoyment
from the whole scene, and, like the facetious
Merry Andrew, directing his queer glance par-
ticularly at me.

As for myself, with great exhilaration of
fancy, I began to arrange and color the inci-
dents of a tale, wherewith I proposed to amuse
an audience that very evening ; for I saw that
my associates were a little ashamed of me, and
that no time was to be lost in obtaining a pub-
lic acknowledgment of my abilities.

" Come, fellow laborers," at last said the old
showman, whom we had elected President ;
*' the shower is over, and we must be doing our
duty by these poor souls at Stamford."

" We *11 come among them in procession with
music and dancing," cried the merry damsel.

Accordingly — for it must be understood
that our pilgrimage was to be performed on
foot — we sallied joyously out of the wagon,
182

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

each of us, even the old gentleman in his white
top-boots, giving a great skip as we came down
the ladder. Above our heads there was such a
glory of sunshine and splendor of clouds, and
such brightness of verdure below, that, as I
modestly remarked at the time. Nature seemed
to have washed her face, and put on the best
of her jewelry and a fresh green gown, in honor
of our confederation. Casting our eyes north-
ward, we beheld a horseman approaching lei-
surely, and splashing through the little puddles
on the Stamford road. Onward he came, stick-
ing up in his saddle with rigid perpendicularity,
a tall, thin figure in rusty black, whom the
showman and the conjurer shortly recognized
to be, what his aspect sufficiently indicated, a
travelling preacher of great fame among the
Methodists. What puzzled us was the fact
that his face appeared turned from, instead of
to, the camp-meeting at Stamford. However,
as this new votary of the wandering life drew
near the little green space where the guidepost
and our wagon were situated, my six fellow
vagabonds and myself rushed forward and sur-
rounded him, crying out with united voices, —

" What news, what news from the camp-
meeting at Stamford ? "

The missionary looked down in surprise at
as singular a knot of people as could have been
selected from all his heterogeneous auditors.

183

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Indeed, considering that we might all be clas-
sified under the general head of Vagabond,
there was great diversity of character among the
grave old showman, the sly, prophetic beggar,
the fiddling foreigner and his merry damsel, the
smart bibliopolist, the sombre Indian, and my-
self, the itinerant novelist, a slender youth of
eighteen. I even fancied that a smile was en-
deavoring to disturb the iron gravity of the
preacher's mouth.

" Good people," answered he, " the camp-
meeting is broke up."

So saying, the Methodist minister switched
his steed and rode westward. Our union be-
ing thus nullified by the removal of its object,
we were sundered at once to the four winds
of heaven. The fortune-teller giving a nod to
all, and a peculiar wink to me, departed on his
northern tour, chuckling within himself as he
took the Stamford road. The old showman
and his literary coadjutor were already tackling
their horses to the wagon, with a design to
peregrinate southwest along the sea-coast. The
foreigner and the merry damsel took their
laughing leave, and pursued the eastern road,
which I had that day trodden ; as they passed
away, the young man played a lively strain and
the girl's happy spirit broke into a dance :
and thus, dissolving, as it were, into sunbeams
and gay music, that pleasant pair departed from
184

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS

my view. Finally, with a pensive shadow thrown
across my mind, yet envious of the light phi-
losophy of my late companions, I joined myself
to the Penobscot Indian and set forth towards
the distant city.

lis

I

THE WHITE OLD MAID

THE moonbeams came through two
deep and narrow windows, and showed
a spacious chamber richly furnished
in an antique fashion. From one lattice the
shadow of the diamond panes was thrown upon
the floor ; the ghostly light, through the other,
slept upon a bed, falling between the heavy
silken curtains, and illuminating the face of a
young man. But, how quietly the slumberer
lay ! how pale his features ! and how like a
shroud the sheet was wound about his frame 1
Yes ; it was a corpse, in its burial clothes.

Suddenly, the fixed features seemed to move
with dark emotion. Strange fantasy ! It was
but the shadow of the fringed curtain waving
betwixt the dead face and the moonlight, as the
door of the chamber opened and a girl stole
softly to the bedside. Was there delusion in
the moonbeams, or did her gesture and her eye
betray a gleam of triumph, as she bent over the
pale corpse — pale as itself — and pressed her
living lips to the cold ones of the dead ? As
she drew back from that long kiss, her features
writhed as if a proud heart were fighting with
its anguish. Again it seemed that the features
i86

I

THE WHITE OLD MAID

of the corpse had moved responsive to her own.
Still an illusion ! The silken curtain had waved,
a second time, betwixt the dead face and the
moonlight, as another fair young girl unclosed
the door, and glided, ghost-like, to the bedside.
There the two maidens stood, both beautiful,
with the pale beauty of the dead between them.
But she who had first entered was proud and
stately, and the other a soft and fragile thing.

" Away ! " cried the lofty one. " Thou
hadst him living ! The dead is mine ! "

" Thine ! '* returned the other, shuddering.
" Well hast thou spoken ! The dead is thine ! "

The proud girl started, and stared into her
face with a ghastly look. But a wild and
mournful expression passed across the features
of the gentle one ; and weak and helpless, she
sank down on the bed, her head pillowed beside
that of the corpse, and her hair mingling with
his dark locks. A creature of hope and joy,
the first draught of sorrow had bewildered her.

" Edith ! " cried her rival.

Edith groaned, as with a sudden compression
of the heart ; and removing her cheek from the
dead youth's pillow, she stood upright, fearfully
encountering the eyes of the lofty girl.

" Wilt thou betray me ? '* said the latter
calmly.

" Till the dead bid me speak, I will be
silent," answered Edith. " Leave us alone to-

187

TWICE-TOLD TALES

gether ! Go, and live many years, and then
return, and tell me of thy life. He, too, will be
here ! Then, if thou tellest of sufferings more
than death, we will both forgive thee."

" And what shall be the token ? " asked the
proud girl, as if her heart acknowledged a
meaning in these wild words.

" This lock of hair," said Edith, Hfting one
of the dark, clustering curls that lay heavily
on the dead man's brow.

The two maidens joined their hands over the
bosom of the corpse, and appointed a day and
hour, far, far in time to come, for their next
meeting in that chamber. The statelier girl
gave one deep look at the motionless counte-
nance, and departed — yet turned again and
trembled ere she closed the door, almost believ-
ing that her dead lover frowned upon her.
And Edith, too ! Was not her white form fad-
ing into the moonlight ? Scorning her own
weakness, she went forth, and perceived that a
negro slave was waiting in the passage with a
wax-light, which he held between her face and
his own, and regarded her, as she thought, with
an ugly expression of merriment. Lifting his
torch on high, the slave lighted her down the
staircase, and undid the portal of the mansion.
The young clergyman of the town had just
ascended the steps, and bowing to the lady,
passed in without a word.
i88

THE WHITE OLD MAID

Years, many years, rolled on ; the world
seemed new again, so much older was it grown
since the night when those pale girls had clasped
their hands across the bosom of the corpse. In
the interval, a lonely woman had passed from
youth to extreme age, and was known by all
the town as the " Old Maid in the Winding
Sheet." A taint of insanity had affected her
whole life, but so quiet, sad, and gentle, so
utterly free from violence, that she was suffered
to pursue her harmless fantasies, unmolested
by the world, with whose business or pleasures
she had nought to do. She dwelt alone, and
never came into the daylight, except to follow
funerals. Whenever a corpse was borne along
the street, in sunshine, rain, or snow : whether a
pompous train of the rich and proud thronged
after it, or few and humble were the mourners,
behind them came the lonely woman in a long
white garment which the people called her
shroud. She took, no place among the kindred
or the friends, but stood at the door to hear the
funeral prayer, and walked in the rear of the
procession, as one whose earthly charge it was
to haunt the house of mourning, and be the
shadow of affliction, and see that the dead were
duly buried. So long had this been her custom,
that the inhabitants of the town deemed her a
part of every funeral, as much as the coffln pall,
or the very corpse itself, and augured ill of the

TWICE-TOLD TALES

sinner's destiny unless the " Old Maid in the
Winding Sheet " came gliding, like a ghost, be-
hind. Once, it is said, she affrighted a bridal
party with her pale presence, appearing sud-
denly in the illuminated hall, just as the priest
was uniting a false maid to a wealthy man, be-
fore her lover had been dead a year. Evil was
the omen to that marriage ! Sometimes she
stole forth by moonlight and visited the graves
of venerable Integrity, and wedded Love, and
virgin Innocence, and every spot where the
ashes of a kind and faithful heart were moulder-
ing. Over the hillocks of those favored dead
would she stretch out her arms, with a gesture,
as if she were scattering seeds ; and many
believed that she brought them from the gar-
den of Paradise ; for the graves which she had
visited were green beneath the snow, and
covered with sweet flowers from April to No-
vember. Her blessing was better than a holy
verse upon the tombstone. Thus wore away
her long, sad, peaceful, and fantastic life, till
few were so old as she, and the people of later
generations wondered how the dead had ever
been buried, or mourners had endured their
grief, without the " Old Maid in the Winding
Sheet."

Still years went on, and still she followed
funerals, and was not yet summoned to her own
festival of death. One afternoon, the great
190

1

THE WHITE OLD MAID

street of the town was all alive with business
and bustle, though the sun now gilded only the
upper half of the church spire, having left
the house-tops and loftiest trees in shadow.
The scene was cheerful and animated, in spite
of the sombre shade between the high brick
buildings. Here were pompous merchants, in
white wigs and laced velvet ; the bronzed faces
of sea-captains ; the foreign garb and air of Span-
ish Creoles ; and the disdainful port of natives
of Old England ; all contrasted with the rough
aspect of one or two back settlers, negotiating
sales of timber from forests where axe had never
sounded. Sometimes a lady passed, swelling
roundly forth in an embroidered petticoat, bal-
ancing her steps in high-heeled shoes, and curt-
sying with lofty grace to the punctilious obei-
sances of the gentlemen. The life of the town
seemed to have its very centre not far from an
old mansion that stood somewhat back from
the pavement, surrounded by neglected grass,
with a strange air of loneliness, rather deepened
than dispelled by the throng so near it. Its
site would have been suitably occupied by a
magnificent Exchange or a brick block, lettered
all over with various signs ; or the large house
itself might have made a noble tavern, with the
" King's Arms " swinging before it, and guests
in every chamber, instead of the present soli-
tude. But, owing to some dispute about the
191

TWICE-TOLD TALES

right of inheritance, the mansion had been long
without a tenant, decaying from year to year,
and throwing the stately gloom of its shadow
over the busiest part of the town. Such was
the scene, and such the time, when a figure un-
like any that have been described was observed
at a distance down the street.

" I espy a strange sail yonder," remarked a
Liverpool captain ; " that woman in the long
white garment ! "

The sailor seemed much struck by the ob-
ject, as were several others who, at the same
moment, caught a glimpse of the figure that had
attracted his notice. Almost immediately the
various topics of conversation gave place to
speculations, in an undertone, on this unwonted
occurrence.

" Can there be a funeral so late this after-
noon ? " inquired some.

They looked for the signs of death at every
door — the sexton, the hearse, the assemblage
of black-clad relatives — all that makes up the
woeful pomp of funerals. They raised their
eyes, also, to the sun-gilt spire of the church,
and wondered that no clang proceeded from its
bell, which had always tolled till now when this
figure appeared in the light of day. But none
had heard that a corpse was to be borne to its
home that afternoon, nor was there any token
192

THE WHITE OLD MAID

of a funeral, except the apparition of the " Old
Maid in the Winding Sheet."

" What may this portend ? " asked each man
of his neighbor.

All smiled as they put the question, yet with
a certain trouble in their eyes, as if pestilence
or some other wide calamity were prognosticated
by the untimely intrusion among the living of
one whose presence had always been associated
with death and woe. What a comet is to the
earth was that sad woman to the town. Still
she moved on, while the hum of surprise was
hushed at her approach, and the proud and the
humble stood aside, that her white garment
might not wave against them. It was a long,
loose robe, of spotless purity. Its wearer ap-
peared very old, pale, emaciated, and feeble, yet
glided onward without the unsteady pace of ex-
treme age. At one point of her course a little
rosy boy burst forth from a door, and ran, with
open arms, towards the ghostly woman, seem-
ing to expect a kiss from her bloodless lips. She
made a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him
with an expression of no earthly sweetness, so
that the child shivered and stood awe-struck,
rather than affrighted, while the Old Maid
passed on. Perhaps her garment might have
been polluted even by an infant's touch ; per-
haps her kiss would have been death to the
sweet boy within a year.
193

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" She is but a shadow," whispered the super-
stitious. " The child put forth his arms and
could not grasp her robe ! '*

The wonder was increased when the Old
Maid passed beneath the porch of the deserted
mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted
the iron knocker, and gave three raps. The
people could only conjecture that some old
remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain,
had impelled the poor woman hither to visit the
friends of her youth ; all gone from their home
long since and forever, unless their ghosts still
haunted it — fit company for the " Old Maid
in the Winding Sheet." An elderly man ap-
proached the steps, and, reverently uncovering
his gray locks, essayed to explain the matter.

" None, Madam," said he, " have dwelt in
this house these fifteen years agone — no, not
since the death of old Colonel Fenwicke, whose
funeral you may remember to have followed.
His heirs, being ill agreed among themselves,
have let the mansion house go to ruin."

The Old Maid looked slowly round with a
slight gesture of one hand, and a finger of the
other upon her lip, appearing more shadow-like
than ever in the obscurity of the porch. But
again she lifted the hammer, and gave, this
time, a single rap. Could it be that a footstep
was now heard coming down the staircase of the
old mansion, which all conceived to have been
194

THE WHITE OLD MAID

so long untenanted ? Slowly, feebly, yet heav-
ily, like the pace of an aged and infirm person,
the step approached, more distinct on every
downward stair, till it reached the portal. The
bar fell on the inside ; the door was opened.
One upward glance towards the church spire,
whence the sunshine had just faded, was the
last that the people saw of the " Old Maid in
the Winding Sheet."

"Who undid the door?" asked many.

This question, owing to the depth of shadow
beneath the porch, no one could satisfactorily
answer. Two or three aged men, while protest-
ing against an inference which might be drawn,
affirmed that the person within was a negro,
and bore a singular resemblance to old Caesar,
formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death
some thirty years before.

" Her summons has waked up a servant of
the old family," said one half seriously.

" Let us wait here," replied another. " More
guests will knock at the door, anon. But the
gate of the graveyard should be thrown open ! "

Twilight had overspread the town before the
crowd began to separate, or the comments on
this incident were exhausted. One after another
was wending his way homeward, when a coach
— no common spectacle in those days — drove
slowly into the street. It was an old-fashioned
equipage, hanging close to the ground, with
195

TWICE-TOLD TALES

arms on the panels, a footman behind, and a
grave, corpulent coachman seated high in front
— the whole giving an idea of solemn state and
dignity. There was something awful in the
heavy rumbling of the wheels. The coach rolled
down the street, till, coming to the gateway of
the deserted mansion, it drew up, and the foot-
man sprang to the ground.

" Whose grand coach is this ? " asked a very
inquisitive body.

The footman made no reply, but ascended
the steps of the old house, gave three raps with
the iron hammer, and returned to open the coach
door. An old man, possessed of the heraldic
lore so common in that day, examined the shield
of arms on the panel.

" Azure, a lion's head erased, between three
flower-de-luces," said he ; then whispered the
name of the family to whom these bearings
belonged. The last inheritor of his honors was
recently dead, after a long residence amid the
splendor of the British court, where his birth
and wealth had given him no mean station.
" He left no child," continued the herald, "and
these arms, being in a lozenge, betoken that the
coach appertains to his widow."

Further disclosures, perhaps, might have been

made, had not the speaker suddenly been struck

dumb by the stern eye of an ancient lady, who

thrust forth her head from the coach, preparing

196

THE WHITE OLD MAID

to descend. As she emerged, the people saw
that her dress was magnificent, and her figure
dignified, in spite of age and infirmity — a
stately ruin, but with a look, at once, of pride
and wretchedness. Her strong and rigid fea-
tures had an awe about them, unlike that of
the white Old Maid, but as of something evil.
She passed up the steps, leaning on a gold-
headed cane ; the door swung open as she as-
cended — and the light of a torch glittered on
the embroidery of her dress, and gleamed on the
pillars of the porch. After a momentary pause
— a glance backwards — and then a desperate
effort — she went in. The decipherer of the coat
of arms had ventured up the lowest step, and
shrinking back immediately, pale and tremu-
lous, affirmed that the torch was held by the
very image of old Caesar.

" But such a hideous grin," added he, " was
never seen on the face of mortal man, black or
white ! It will haunt me till my dying day."

Meantime, the coach had wheeled round,
with a prodigious clatter on the pavement,
and rumbled up the street, disappearing in the
twilight, while the ear still . tracked its course.
Scarcely was it gone, when the people began to
question whether the coach and attendants, the
ancient lady, the spectre of old Caesar, and the
Old Maid herself, were not all a strangely com-
bined delusion, with some dark purport in its
197

TWICE-TOLD TALES

mystery. The whole town was astir, so that,
instead of dispersing, the crowd continually
increased, and stood gazing up at the windows
of the mansion, now silvered by the brighten-
ing moon. The elders, glad to indulge the
narrative propensity of age, told of the long-
faded splendor of the family, the entertainments
they had given, and the guests, the greatest of
the land, and even titled and noble ones from
abroad, who had passed beneath that portal.
These graphic reminiscences seemed to call up
the ghosts of those to whom they referred. So
strong was the impression on some of the more
imaginative hearers, that two or three were
seized with trembling fits, at one and the same
moment, protesting that they had distinctly
heard three other raps of the iron knocker.

" Impossible ! " exclaimed others. " See !
The moon shines beneath the porch, and shows
every part of it, except in the narrow shade of
that pillar. There is no one there ! "

" Did not the door open ? " whispered one of
these fanciful persons.

" Didst thou see it, too ? " said his compan-
ion, in a startled tone.

But the general sentiment was opposed to the
idea that a third visitant had made application
at the door of the deserted house. A few, how-
ever, adhered to this new marvel, and even
declared that a red gleam like that of a torch
198

THE WHITE OLD MAID

had shone through the great front window, as if
the negro were lighting a guest up the staircase.
This, too, was pronounced a mere fantasy. But
at once the whole multitude started, and each
man beheld his own terror painted in the faces
of all the rest.

" What an awful thing is this ! " cried they.

A shriek too fearfully distinct for doubt had
been heard within the mansion, breaking forth
suddenly, and succeeded by a deep stillness, as
if a heart had burst in giving it utterance. The
people knew not whether to fly from the very
sight of the house, or to rush trembling in, and
search out the strange mystery. Amid their con-
fusion and aifright, they were somewhat reas-
sured by the appearance of their clergyman, a
venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, who
had taught them and their fathers the way to
heaven for more than the space of an ordinary
lifetime. He was a reverend figure, with long
white hair upon his shoulders, a white beard
upon his breast, and a back so bent over his
staff that he seemed to be looking downward
continually, as if to choose a proper grave for
his weary frame. It was some time before the
good old man, being deaf and of impaired in-
tellect, could be made to comprehend such por-
tions of the affair as were comprehensible at all.
But, when possessed of the facts, his energies
assumed unexpected vigor.
199

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" Verily," said the old gentleman, " it will
be fitting that I enter the mansion house of
the worthy Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm
should have befallen that true Christian woman
whom ye call the ' Old Maid in the Winding
Sheet/ "

Behold, then, the venerable clergyman as-
cending the steps of the mansion, with a torch-
bearer behind him. It was the elderly man who
had spoken to the Old Maid, and the same who
had afterwards explained the shield of arms and
recognized the features of the negro. Like their
predecessors, they gave three raps with the iron
hammer.

" Old Caesar cometh not," observed the priest.
" Well I wot he no longer doth service in this
mansion."

" Assuredly, then, it was something worse, in
old Caesar's likeness J " said the other adven-
turer.

" Be it as God wills," answered the clergy-
man. " See ! my strength, though it be much
decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door.
Let us enter and pass up the staircase."

Here occurred a singular exemplification of
the dreamy state of a very old man's mind. As
they ascended the wide flight of stairs, the aged
clergyman appeared to move with caution, occa-
sionally standing aside, and oftener bending his
head, as it were in salutation, thus practising all

200

J

THE WHITE OLD MAID

the gestures of one who makes his way through
a throng. Reaching the head of the staircase,
he looked around with sad and solemn benig-
nity, laid aside his staff, bared his hoary locks,
and was evidently on the point of commencing
a prayer.

" Reverend Sir,** said his attendant, who con-
ceived this a very suitable prelude to their fur-
ther search, "would it not be well that the
people join with us in prayer ? "

" Welladay ! " cried the old clergyman, star-
ing strangely around him. " Art thou here
with me, and none other ? Verily, past times
were present to me, and I deemed that I was
to make a funeral prayer, as many a time here-
tofore, from the head of this staircase. Of a
tsi'uth, I saw the shades of many that are gone.
Yea, I have prayed at their burials, one after
another, and the ' Old Maid in the Winding
jNheet * hath seen them to their graves ! '*

Being now more thoroughly awake to their
present purpose, he took his staff and struck
forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo
from each deserted chamber, but no menial to
answer their summons. They therefore walked
i^long the passage, and again paused, opposite to
the great front window through which was seen
the crowd, in the shadow and partial moonlight
of the street beneath. On their right hand was
the open door of a chamber, and a closed one

201

TWICE-TOLD TALES

on their left. The clergyman pointed his cane
to the carved oak panel of the latter.

" Within that chamber," observed he, " a
whole lifetime since, did I sit by the death-bed
of a goodly young man, who, being now at the
last gasp '' —

Apparently there was some powerful excite-
ment in the ideas which had now flashed across
his mind. He snatched the torch from his
companion's hand, and threw open the door
with such sudden violence that the flame was
extinguished, leaving them no other light than
the moonbeams, which fell through two win-
dows into the spacious chamber. It was suffi-
cient to discover all that could be known. In
a high-backed oaken armchair, upright, with her
hands clasped across her breast, and her head
thrown back, sat the " Old Maid in the Wind-
ing Sheet." The stately dame had fallen on her
knees, with her forehead on the holy knees of
the Old Maid, one hand upon the floor and the
other pressed convulsively against her heart.
It clutched a lock of hair, once sable, now dis-
colored with a greenish mould. As the priest
and layman advanced into the chamber, the Old
Maid's features assumed such a semblance of
shifting expression that they trusted to hear the
whole mystery explained by a single word. But
it was only the shadow of a tattered curtain wav-
ing betwixt the dead face and the moonlight.

202

THE WHITE OLD MAID

" Both dead ! " said the venerable man.
" Then who shall divulge the secret ? Me-
thinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind, like
the light and shadow across the Old Maid's
face. And now 't is gone ! "
203

PETER GOLDTHWAITE^S TREA-
SURE

AND so, Peter, you won't even consider of
/-\ the business ? " said Mr. John Brown,
-^ -^ buttoning his surtout over the snug
rotundity of his person, and drawing on his
gloves. " You positively refuse to let me have
this crazy old house, and the land under and
adjoining, at the price named ? "

" Neither at that, nor treble the sum,"
responded the gaunt, grizzled, and threadbare
Peter Goldthwaite. " The fact is, Mr. Brown,
you must find another site for your brick block,
and be content to leave my estate with the pre-
sent owner. Next summer, I intend to put a
splendid new mansion over the cellar of the old
house.''

" Pho, Peter ! " cried Mr. Brown, as he
opened the kitchen door ; " content yourself
with building castles in the air, where house-
lots are cheaper than on earth, to say nothing
of the cost of bricks and mortar. Such foun-
dations are solid enough for your edifices, while
this underneath us i^ just the thing for mine ;
and so we may both be suited. What say you
again ? " .

204

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

" Precisely what I said before, Mr. Brown,"
answered Peter Goldthwaite. " And as for cas-
tles in the air, mine may not be as magnificent
as that sort of architecture, but perhaps as sub-
stantial, Mr. Brown, as the very respectable
brick block with dry-goods stores, tailors' shops,
and banking-rooms on the lower floor, and law-
yers' offices in the second story, which you are
so anxious to substitute."

" And the cost, Peter, eh ? " said Mr. Brown,
as he withdrew in something of a pet. " That,
I suppose, will be provided for, oflF-hand, by
drawing a check on Bubble Bank ! "

John Brown and Peter Goldthwaite had been
jointly known to the commercial world between
twenty and thirty years before, under the firm
of Goldthwaite & Brown ; which copartnership,
however, was speedily dissolved by the natural
incongruity of its constituent parts. vSince
that event, John Brown, with exactly the quali-
ties of a thousand other John Browns, and by
just such plodding methods as they used, had
prospered wonderfully, and become one of
the wealthiest John Browns on earth. Peter
Goldthwaite, on the contrary, after innumerable
schemes, which ought to have collected all the
coin and paper currency of the country into his
coffers, was as needy a gentleman as ever wore
a patch upon his elbow. The contrast between
him and his former partner may be briefly
205

TWICE-TOLD TALES

marked ; for Brown never reckoned upon luck,
yet always had it ; while Peter made luck the
main condition of his projects, and always
missed it. While the means held out, his spec-
ulations had been magnificent, but were chiefly
confined, of late years, to such small business
as adventures in the lottery. Once he had gone
on a gold-gathering expedition somewhere to
the South, and ingeniously contrived to empty
his pockets more thoroughly than ever ; while
others, doubtless, were filling theirs with native
bullion by the handful. More recently he had
expended a legacy of a thousand or two of dol-
lars in purchasing Mexican scrip, and thereby
became the proprietor of a province ; which,
however, so far as Peter could find out, was
situated where he might have had an empire
for the same money, — in the clouds. From
a search after this valuable real estate Peter
returned so gaunt and threadbare that, on
reaching New England, the scarecrows in the
cornfields beckoned to him, as he passed by.
" They did but flutter in the wind," quoth
Peter Goldthwaite. No, Peter, they beckoned,
for the scarecrows knew their brother !

At the period of our story his whole visible
income would not have paid the tax of the old
mansion in which we find him. It was one of
those rusty, moss-grown, many-peaked wooden
houses, which are scattered about the streets of
206

J

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

our elder towns, with a beetle-browed second
story projecting over the foundation, as if it
frowned at the novelty around it. This old
paternal edifice, needy as he was, and though,
being 'centrally situated on the principal street
of the town, it would have brought him a hand-
some sum, the sagacious Peter had his own rea-
sons for never parting with, either by auction
or private sale. There seemed, indeed, to be a
fatality that connected him with his birthplace ;
for, often as he had stood on the verge of ruin,
and standing there even now, he had not yet
taken the step beyond it which would have
compelled him to surrender the house to his
creditors. So here he dwelt with bad luck till
good should come.

Here, then, in his kitchen, the only room
where a spark of fire took off the chill of a
November evening, poor Peter Goldthwaite had
just been visited by his rich old partner. At
the close of their interview, Peter, with rather a
mortified look, glanced dpwnwards at his dress,
parts of which appeared as ancient as the days of
Goldthwaite & Brown. His upper garment was
a mixed surtout, woefully faded, and patched
with newer stuflF on each elbow ; beneath this
he wore a threadbare black coat, some of the
silk buttons of which had been replaced with
others of a different pattern ; and lastly, though
he lacked not a pair of gray pantaloons, they
207

TWICE TOLD TALES

were very shabby ones, and had been partially
turned brown by the frequent toasting of Peter's
shins before a scanty fire. Peter's person was
in keeping with his goodly apparel. Gray-
headed, hollow-eyed, pale-cheeked, and lean-
bodied, he was the perfect picture of a man who
had fed on windy schemes and empty hopes,
till he could neither live on such unwholesome
trash, nor stomach more substantial food. But,
withal, this Peter Goldthwaite, crack-brained
simpleton as, perhaps, he was, might have cut
a very brilliant figure in the world, had he em-
ployed his imagination in the airy business of
poetry, instead of making it a demon of mis-
chief in mercantile pursuits. After all, he was
no bad fellow, but as harmless as a child, and
as honest and honorable, and as much of the
gentleman which nature meant him for, as an
irregular life and depressed circumstances will
permit any man to be.

As Peter stood on the uneven bricks of his
hearth, looking round at the disconsolate old
kitchen, his eyes began to kindle with the
illumination of an enthusiasm that never long
deserted him. He raised his hand, clenched
it, and smote it energetically against the smoky
panel over the fireplace.

" The time is come !" said he. "With such
a treasure at command, it were folly to be a
poor man any longer. To-morrow morning I
208

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

will begin with the garret, nor desist till I have
torn the house down ! "

Deep in the chimney-corner, like a witch in
a dark cavern, sat a little old woman, mending
one of the two pairs of stockings wherewith
Peter Goldthwaite kept his toes from being
frostbitten. As the feet were ragged past all
darning, she had cut pieces out of a cast-off
flannel petticoat, to make new soles. Tabitha
Porter was an old maid, upwards of sixty years
of age, fifty-five of which she had sat in that
same chimney-corner, such being the length of
time since Peter's grandfather had taken her
from the almshouse. She had no friend but
Peter, nor Peter any friend but Tabitha ; so
long as Peter might have a shelter for his own
head, Tabitha would know where to shelter
hers ; or, being homeless elsewhere, she would
take her master by the hand and bring him
to her native home, the almshouse. Should it
ever be necessary, she loved him well enough
to feed him with her last morsel, and clothe
him with her under petticoat. But Tabitha
was a queer old woman, and, though never
infected with Peter's flightiness, had become
so accustomed to his freaks and follies that she
viewed them all as matters of course. Hearing
him threaten to tear the house down, she
looked quietly up from her work.
209

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" Best leave the kitchen till the last, Mr.
Peter," said she.

"The sooner we have it all down, the better,"
said Peter Goldthwaite. " I am tired to death
of living in this cold, dark, windy, smoky,
creaking, groaning, dismal old house. I shall
feel like a younger man when we get into my
splendid brick mansion, as, please Heaven, we
shall by this time next autumn. You shall have
a room on the sunny side, old Tabby, finished
and furnished as best may suit your own no-
tions."

" I should like it pretty much such a room
as this kitchen," answered Tabitha. " It will
never be like home to me till the chimney-cor-
ner gets as black with smoke as this ; and that
won't be these hundred years. How much
do you mean to lay out on the house, Mr.
Peter?"

" What is that to the purpose ? " exclaimed
Peter loftily. " Did not my great-granduncle,
Peter Goldthwaite, who died seventy years ago,
and whose namesake I am, leave treasure
enough to build twenty such ? "

" I can't say but he did, Mr. Peter," said
Tabitha, threading her needle.

Tabitha well understood that Peter had re-
ference to an immense hoard of the precious
metals, which was said to exist somewhere in
the cellar or walls, or under the floors, or in

210

(

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

some concealed closet, or other out of the way
nook of the house. This wealth, according to
tradition, had been accumulated by a former
Peter Goldthwaite, whose character seems to
have borne a remarkable similitude to that of
the Peter of our story. Like him, he was a wild
projector, seeking to heap up gold by the bushel
and the cartload, instead of scraping it together,
coin by coin. Like Peter the second, too, his
projects had almost invariably failed, and, but
for the magnificent success of the final one,
would have left him with hardly a coat and
pair of breeches to his gaunt and grizzled per-
son. Reports were various as to the nature of
his fortunate speculation : one intimating that
the ancient Peter had made the gold by al-
chemy ; another, that he had conjured it out
of people's pockets by the black art ; and a
third, still more unaccountable, that the devil
had given him free access to the old provincial
treasury. It was affirmed, however, that some
secret impediment had debarred him from the
enjoyment of his riches, and that he had a
motive for concealing them from his heir, or at
any rate, had died without disclosing the place
of deposit. The. present Peter's father had faith
enough in the story to cause the cellar to be
dug over. Peter himself chose to consider the
legend as an indisputable truth, and, amid his
many troubles, had this one consolation that,

211

TWICE-TOLD TALES

should all other resources fail, he might build
up his fortunes by tearing his house down. Yet,
unless he felt a lurking distrust of the golden
tale, it is difficult to account for his permitting
the paternal roof to stand so long, since he had
never yet seen the moment when his prede-
cessor's treasure would not have found plenty
of room in his own strong box. But now was
the crisis. Should he delay the search a little
longer, the house would pass from the lineal
heir, and with it the vast heap of gold, to re-
main in its burial-place till the ruin of the aged
walls should discover it to strangers of a future
generation.

" Yes ! " cried Peter Goldthwaite again, " to-
morrow I will set about it."

The deeper he looked at the matter, the more
certain of success grew Peter. His spirits were
naturally so elastic that even now, in the blasted
autumn of his age, he could often compete with
the springtime gayety of other people. Enliv-
ened by his brightening prospects, he began to
caper about the kitchen like a hobgoblin, with
the queerest antics of his lean limbs, and ges-
ticulations of his starved features. Nay, in the
exuberance of his feelings, he seized both of
Tabitha's hands and danced the old lady across
the floor, till the oddity of her rheumatic mo-
tions set him into a roar of laughter, which was
echoed back from the rooms and chambers, as

212

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

if Peter Goldthwaite were laughing in every
one. Finally he bounded upward, alrnost out
of sight, into the smoke that clouded the roof
of the kitchen, and, alighting safely on the
floor again, endeavored to resume his custom-
ary gravity.

" To-morrow, at sunrise," he repeated, taking
his lamp to retire to bed, " I '11 see whether
this treasure be hid in the wall of the gar-
ret."

" And as we 're out of wood, Mr. Peter,"
said Tabitha, puffing and panting with her late
gymnastics, " as fast as you tear the house
down, I '11 make a fire with the pieces."

Gorgeous that night were the dreams of
Peter Goldthwaite ! At one time he was turn-
ing a ponderous key in an iron door not unlike
the door of a sepulchre, but which, being
opened, disclosed a vault heaped up with gold
coin, as plentifully as golden corn in a granary.
There were chased goblets, also, and tureens,
salvers, dinner dishes, and dish covers of gold,
or silver gilt, besides chains and other jewels,
incalculably rich, though tarnished with the
damps of the vault ; for, of all the wealth that
was irrevocably lost to man, whether buried in
the earth or sunken in the sea, Peter Gold-
thwaite had found it in this one treasure-place.
Anon, he had returned to the old house as poor
as ever, and was received at the door by the
213

TWICE-TOLD TALES

gaunt and grizzled figure of a man whom he
might have mistaken for himself, only that his
garments were of a much elder fashion. But
the house, without losing its former aspect, had
been changed into a palace of the precious
metals. The floors, walls, and ceiling were of
burnished silver ; the doors, the window frames,
the cornices, the balustrades, and the steps of
the staircase, of pure gold ; and silver, with gold
bottoms, were the chairs, and gold, standing on
silver legs, the high chests of drawers, and sil-
ver the bedsteads, with blankets of woven gold,
and sheets of silver tissue. The house had
evidently been transmuted by a single touch ;
for it retained all the marks that Peter remem-
bered, but in gold or silver instead of wood ;
and the initials of his name, which, when a boy,
he had cut in the wooden doorpost, remained
as deep in the pillar of gold. A happy man
would have been Peter Goldthwaite except for
a certain ocular deception, which, whenever he
glanced backwards, caused the house to darken
from its glittering magnificence into the sordid
gloom of yesterday.

Up, betimes, rose Peter, seized an axe, ham-
mer, and saw, which he had placed by his bed-
side, and hied him to the garret. It was but
scantily lighted up, as yet, by the frosty frag-
ments of a sunbeam, which began to glimmer
through the almost opaque bulFs-eyes of the
214

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

window. A moralizer might find abundant
themes for his speculative and impracticable
wisdom in a garret. There is the limbo of de-
parted fashions, aged trifles of a day, and what-
ever was valuable only to one generation of
men, and which passed to the garret when that
generation passed to the grave, not for safe
keeping, but to be out of the way. Peter saw
piles of yellow and musty account-books, in
parchment covers, wherein creditors, long dead
and buried, had written the names of dead and
buried debtors in ink now so faded that their
moss-grown tombstones were more legible. He
found old moth-eaten garments all in rags and
tatters, or Peter would have put them on. Here
was a naked and rusty sword, not a sword of
service, but a gentleman's small French rapier,
which had never left its scabbard till it lost it.
Here were canes of twenty different sorts, but
no gold-headed ones, and shoe-buckles of vari-
ous pattern and material, but not silver nor set
with precious stones. Here was a large box
full of shoes, with high heels and peaked toes.
Here, on a shelf, were a multitude of phials,
half filled with old apothecaries' stuff, which,
when the other half had done its business on
Peter's ancestors, had been brought hither from
the death chamber. Here — not to give a
longer inventory of articles that will never be
put up at auction — was the fragment of a full-
215

TWICE-TOLD TALES

length looking-glass, which, by the dust and
dimness of its surface, made the picture of these
old things look older than the reality. When
Peter, not knowing that there was a mirror
there, caught the faint traces of his own figure,
he partly imagined that the former Peter Gold-
thwaite had come back, either to assist or impede
his search for the hidden wealth. And at that
moment a strange notion glimmered through
his brain that he was the identical Peter who
had concealed the gold, and ought to know
whereabout it lay. This, however, he had un-
accountably forgotten.

" Well, Mr. Peter ! " cried Tabitha, on the
garret stairs. " Have you torn the house down
enough to heat the teakettle ? "

" Not yet, old Tabby," answered Peter ;
" but that 's soon done — as you shall see."

With the word in his mouth, he uplifted the
axe, and laid about him so vigorously that the
dust flew, the boards crashed, and, in a twin-
kling, the old woman had an apron full of
broken rubbish.

" We shall get our winter's wood cheap,"
quoth Tabitha.

The good work being thus commenced, Peter
beat down all before him, smiting and hewing
at the joists and timbers, unclenching spike-
nails, ripping and tearing away boards, with a
tremendous racket, from morning till night. He
216

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

took care, however, to leave the outside shell
of the house untouched, so that the neighbors
might not suspect what was going on.

Never, in any of his vagaries, though . each
had made him happy while it lasted, had Peter
been happier than now. Perhaps, after all,
there was something in Peter Goldthwaite's turn
of mind, which brought him an inward recom-
pense for all the external evil that it caused. If
he were poor, ill clad, even hungry, and ex~
posed, as it were, to be utterly annihilated by a
precipice of impending ruin, yet only his body
remained in these miserable circumstances, while
his aspiring soul enjoyed the sunshine of a
bright futurity. It was his nature to be always
young, and the tendency of his mode of life to
keep him so. Gray hairs were nothing, no, nor
wrinkles, nor infirmity ; he might look old, in-
deed, and be somewhat disagreeably connected
with a gaunt old figure, much the worse for
wear ; but the true, the essential Peter was a
young man of high hopes, just entering on the
world. At the kindling of each new fire, his
burnt-out youth rose afresh from the old embers
and ashes. It rose exulting now. Having lived
thus long — not too long, but just to the right
age — a susceptible bachelor, with warm and
tender dreams, he resolved, so soon as the hid-
den gold should flash to light, to go a-wooing,
and win the love of the fairest maid in town.
217

TWICE-TOLD TALES

What heart could resist him ? Happy Peter
Goldthwaite !

Every evening — as Peter had long absented
himself from his former lounging-places, at
insurance offices, news-rooms, and bookstores,
and as the honor of his company was seldom
requested in private circles — he and Tabitha
used to sit down sociably by the kitchen hearth.
This was always heaped plentifully with the
rubbish of his day's labor. As the foundation
of the fire, there would be a goodly sized back-
log of red oak, which, after being sheltered from
rain or damp above a century, still hissed with
the heat, and distilled streams of water from
each end, as if the tree had been cut down
within a week or two. Next these were large
sticks, sound, black, and heavy, which had lost
the principle of decay, and were indestructible
except by fire, wherein they glowed like red-
hot bars of iron. On this solid basis, Tabitha
would rear a lighter structure, composed of the
splinters of door panels, ornamented mouldings,
and such quick combustibles, which caught like
straw, and threw a brilliant blaze high up the
spacious flue, making its sooty sides visible
almost to the chimney-top. Meantime, the
gleam of the old kitchen would be chased out
of the cobwebbed corners, and away from the
dusky cross-beams overhead, and driven nobody
could tell whither, while Peter smiled like a
218

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

gladsome man, and Tabitha seemed a picture
of comfortable age. All this, of course, was
but an emblem of the bright fortune which the
destruction of the house would shed upon its
occupants.

While the dry pine was flaming and crack-
ling, like an irregular discharge of fairy mus-
ketry, Peter sat looking and listening, in a plea-
sant state of excitement. But, when the brief
blaze and uproar were succeeded by the dark-
red glow, the substantial heat, and the deep sing-
ing sound, which were to last throughout the
evening, his humor became talkative. One
night, the hundredth time, he teased Tabitha to
tell him something new about his great-grand-
uncle.

" You have been sitting in that chimney-
corner fifty-five years, old Tabby, and must
have heard many a tradition about him," said
Peter. " Did not you tell me that, when you
first came to the house, there was an old woman
sitting where you sit now, who had been house-
keeper to the famous Peter Goldthwaite ? "

" So there was, Mr. Peter," answered Tabi-
tha, " and she was near about a hundred years
old. She used to say that she and old Peter
Goldthwaite had often spent a sociable evening
by the kitchen fire — pretty much as you and J
are doing now, Mr. Peter."

" The old fellow must have resembled me in
219

TWICE-TOLD TALES

more points than one," said Peter complacently,
" or he never would have grown so rich. But,
methinks, he might have invested the money-
better than he did — no interest ! — nothing
but good security ! — and the house to be torn
down to come at it ! What made him hide it
so snug. Tabby ? "

" Because he could not spend it," said Tabi-
tha ; " for as often as he went to unlock the
chest, the Old Scratch came behind and caught
his arm. The money, they say, was paid Peter
out of his purse ; and he wanted Peter to give
him a deed of this house and land, which Peter
swore he would not do."

" Just as I swore to John Brown, my old
partner," remarked Peter. " But this is all
nonsense. Tabby ! I don't beheve the story."

" Well, it may not be just the truth," said
Tabitha ; " for some folks say that Peter did
make over the house to the Old Scratch, and
that 's the reason it has always been so unlucky
to them that lived in it. And as soon as Peter
had given him the deed, the chest flew open,
and Peter caught up a handful of the gold.
But, lo and behold ! — there was nothing in his
fist but a parcel of old rags."

" Hold your tongue, you silly old Tabby ! "
cried Peter in great wrath. " They were as
good golden guineas as ever bore the efligies of
the king of England. It seems as if I could

220

i

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

recollect the whole circumstance, and how I, or
old Peter, or whoever it was, thrust in my hand,
or his hand, and drew it out all of a blaze with
gold. Old rags, indeed ! '*

But it was not an old woman's legend that
would discourage Peter Goldthwaite. All night
long he slept among pleasant dreams, and awoke
at daylight with a joyous throb of the heart,
which few are fortunate enough to feel beyond
their boyhood. Day after day he labored hard
without wasting a moment, except at meal-times,
when Tabitha summoned him to the pork and
cabbage, or such other sustenance as she had
picked up, or Providence had sent them. Be-
ing a truly pious man, Peter never failed to ask
a blessing ; if the food were none of the best,
then so much the more earnestly, as it was more
needed ; — nor to return thanks, if the dinner
had been scanty, yet for the good appetite, which
was better than a sick stomach at a feast. Then
did he hurry back to his toil, and, in a moment,
was lost to sight in a cloud of dust from the old
walls, though sufficiently perceptible to the ear
by the clatter which he raised in the midst of it.
How enviable is the consciousness of being use-
fully employed ! Nothing troubled Peter ; or
nothing but those phantoms of the mind which
seem like vague recollections, yet have also the
aspect of presentiments. He often paused with
his axe uplifted in the air, and said to himself,

221

TWICE-TOLD TALES

— " Peter Goldthwaite, did you never strike
this blow before ? " — or, " Peter, what need of
tearing the whole house down ? Think a little
while, and you will remember where the gold is
hidden." Days and weeks passed on, however,
without any remarkable discovery. Sometimes,
mdeed, a lean, gray rat peeped forth at the lean,
gray man, wondering what devil had got into
the old house, which had always been so peace-
able till now. And, occasionally, Peter sym-
pathized with the sorrows of a female mouse,
who had brought five or six pretty, little, soft
and delicate young ones into the world just in
time to see them crushed by its ruin. But, as
yet, no treasure !

By this time, Peter, being as determined as
Fate and as diligent as Time, had made an end
with the uppermost regions, and got down to
the second story, where he was busy in one of
the front chambers. It had formerly been the
state bedchamber, and was honored by tradi-
tion as the sleeping apartment of Governor
Dudley, and many other eminent guests. The
furniture was gone. There were remnants of
faded and tattered paper hangings, but larger
spaces of bare wall ornamented with charcoal
sketches, chiefly of people's heads in profile.
These being specimens of Peter's youthful gen-
ius, it went more to his heart to obliterate them
than if they had been pictures on a church wall

222

I

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

by Michael Angelo. One sketch, however, and
that the best one, affected him differently. It
represented a ragged man, partly supporting
himself on a spade, and bending his lean body
over a hole in the earth, with one hand extended
to grasp something that he had found. But
close behind him, with a fiendish laugh on his
features, appeared a figure with horns, a tufted
tail, and a cloven hoof.

" A vaunt, Satan ! " cried Peter. " The man
shall have his gold ! '*

Uplifting his axe, he hit the horned gentle-
man such a blow on the head as not only de-
molished him, but the treasure-seeker also, and
caused the whole scene to vanish like magic.
Moreover, his axe broke quite through the
plaster and laths, and discovered a cavity.

" Mercy on us, Mr. Peter, are you quarrel-
ling with the Old Scratch ? " said Tabitha, who
was seeking some fuel to put under the pot.

Without answering the old woman, Peter
broke down a further space of the wall, and laid
open a small closet or cupboard, on one side
of the fireplace, about breast high from the
ground. It contained nothing but a brass lamp,
covered with verdigris, and a dusty piece of
parchment. While Peter inspected the latter,
Tabitha seized the lamp, and began to rub it
with her apron.

" There is no use in rubbing it, Tabitha,"
223

TWICE-TOLD TALES

said Peter. " It is not Aladdin's lamp, though
I take it to be a token of as much luck. Look
here, Tabby ! "

Tabitha took the parchment and held it close
to her nose, which was saddled with a pair of
iron-bound spectacles. But no sooner had she
begun to puzzle over it than she burst into a
chuckling laugh, holding both her hands against
her sides.

"You can't make a fool of the old woman ! "
cried she. " This is your own handwriting,
Mr. Peter ! the same as in the letter you sent
me from Mexico."

" There is certainly a considerable resem-
blance," said Peter, again examining the parch-
ment. " But you know yourself. Tabby, that
this closet must have been plastered up before
you came to the house, or I came into the
world. No, this is old Peter Goldthwaite's
writing ; these columns of pounds, shillings, and
pence are his figures, denoting the amount of
the treasure ; and this at the bottom is, doubt-
less, a reference to the place of concealment.
But the ink has either faded or peeled off, so
that it is absolutely illegible. What a pity ! "

" Well, this lamp is as good as new. That 's
some comfort," said Tabitha.

" A lamp ! " thought Peter. " That indicates
light on my researches."

For the present, Peter felt more inclined to
224

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

ponder on this discovery than to resume his
labors. After Tabitha had gone downstairs,
he stood poring over the parchment at one of
the front windows, which was so obscured with
dust that the sun could barely throw an uncer-
tain shadow of the casement across the floor.
Peter forced it open, and looked out upon the
great street of the town, while the sun looked
in at his old house. The air, though mild, and
even warm, thrilled Peter as with a dash of
water.

It was the first day of the January thaw. The
snow lay deep upon the house-tops, but was
rapidly dissolving into millions of water-drops,
which sparkled downwards through the sun-
shine, with the noise of a summer shower be-
neath the eaves. Along the street, the trodden
snow was as hard and solid as a pavement of
white marble, and had not yet grown moist in
the spring-like temperature. But when Peter
thrust forth his head, he saw that the inhabit-
ants, if not the town, were already thawed out
by this warm day, after two or three weeks of
winter weather. It gladdened him — a glad-
ness with a sigh breathing through it — to see
the stream of ladies, gliding along the slippery
sidewalks, with their red cheeks set off by quilted
hoods, boas, and sable capes, like roses amidst
a new kind of foliage. The sleigh-bells jingled
to and fro continually : sometimes announcing
225

TWICE-TOLD TALES

the arrival of a sleigh from Vermont, laden with
the frozen bodies of porkers, or sheep, and
perhaps a deer or two ; sometimes of a regular
market-man, with chickens, geese, and turkeys,
comprising the whole colony of a barnyard ;
and sometimes of a farmer and his dame, who
had come to town partly for the ride, partly to
go a-shopping, and partly for the sale of some
eggs and butter. This couple rode in an old-
fashioned square sleigh, which had served them
twenty winters, and stood twenty summers in
the sun beside their door. Now, a gentleman
and lady skimmed the snow in an elegant car,
shaped somewhat like a cockle-shell. Now, a
stage-sleigh, with its cloth curtains thrust aside
to admit the sun, dashed rapidly down the street,
whirling in and out among the vehicles that
obstructed its passage. Now came, round a
corner, the similitude of Noah*s ark on runners,
being an immense open sleigh with seats for
fifty people, and drawn by a dozen horses. This
spacious receptacle was populous with merry
maids and merry bachelors, merry girls and
boys, and merry old folks, all alive with fun,
and grinning to the full width of their mouths.
They kept up a buzz of babbling voices and
low laughter, and sometim.es burst into a deep,
joyous shout, which the spectators answered
with three cheers, while a gang of roguish boys
let drive their snowballs right among the plea-
226

J

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

sure party. The sleigh passed on, and, when
concealed by a bend of the street, was still
audible by a distant cry of merriment.

Never had Peter beheld a livelier scene than
was constituted by all these accessories: the
bright sun, the flashing water-drops, the gleam-
ing snow, the cheerful multitude, the variety of
rapid vehicles, and the jingle jangle of merry
bells which made the heart dance to their music.
Nothing dismal was to be seen, except that
peaked piece of antiquity, Peter Goldthwaite's
house, which might well look sad externally,
since such a terrible consumption was preying
on its insides. And Peter's gaunt figure, half
visible in the projecting second story, was worthy
of his house.

" Peter ! How goes it, friend Peter ? " cried
a voice across the street, as Peter was drawing
in his head. " Look out here, Peter ! "

Peter looked, and saw his old partner, Mr.
John Brown, on the opposite sidewalk, portly
and comfortable, with his furred cloak thrown
open, disclosing a handsome surtout beneath.
His voice had directed the attention of the
whole town to Peter Goldthwaite's window,
and to the dusty scarecrow which appeared
at it.

" I say, Peter," cried Mr. Brown again,
"what the devil are you about there, that I
hear such a racket whenever I pass by ? You
227

h

TWICE-TOLD TALES

are repairing the old house, I suppose, — mak-
ing a new one of it, — eh ? "

" Too late for that, I am afraid, Mr. Brown,"
replied Peter. " If I make it new, it will be
new inside and out, from the cellar upwards."

" Had not you better let me take the job ? "
said Mr. Brown significantly.

" Not yet ! " answered Peter, hastily shutting
the window ; for, ever since he had been in
search of the treasure, he hated to have people
stare at him.

As he drew back, ashamed of his outward
poverty, yet proud of the secret wealth within
his grasp, a haughty smile shone out on Peter^s
visage, with precisely the effect of the dim sun-
beams in the squalid chamber. He endeavored
to assume such a mien as his ancestor had prob-
ably worn, when he gloried in: the building of
a strong house for a home to many generations
of his posterity. But the chamber was very
dark to his snow-dazzled eyes, and very dismal
too, in contrast with the living scene that he
had just looked upon. His brief glimpse into
the street had given him a forcible impression
of the manner in which the world kept itself
cheerful and prosperous, by social pleasures and
an intercourse of business, while he, in seclusion,
was pursuing an object that might possibly be
a phantasm, by a method which most people
would call madness. It is one great advantage
228

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

of a gregarious mode of life that each person
rectifies his mind by other minds, and squares
his conduct to that of his neighbors, so as sel-
dom to be lost in eccentricity. Peter Gold-
thwaite had exposed himself to this influence
by merely looking out of the window. For a
while, he doubted whether there were any hid-
den chest of gold, and, in that case, whether he
was so exceedingly wise to tear the house down,
only to be convinced of its non-existence.

But this was momentary. Peter, the De-
stroyer, resumed the task which fate had as-
signed him, nor faltered again till it was accom-
plished. In the course of his search, he met
with many things that are usually found in
the ruins of an old house, and also with some
that are not. What seemed most to the pur-
pose was a rusty key, which had been thrust
into a chink of the wall, with a wooden label
appended to the handle, bearing the initials, P.
G. Another singular discovery was that of a
bottle of wine, walled up in an old oven. A
tradition ran in the family, that Peter*s grand-
father, a jovial officer in the old French War,
had set aside many dozens of the precious
liquor for the benefit of topers then unborn.
Peter needed no cordial to sustain his hopes,
and therefore kept the wine to gladden his suc-
cess. Many halfpence did he pick up, that
had been lost through the cracks of the floor,
229

TWICE-TOLD TALES

and some few Spanish coins, and the half of a
broken sixpence, which had doubtless been a
love token. There was likewise a silver coro-
nation medal of George the Third. But old
Peter Goldthwaite's strong box fled from one
dark corner to another, or otherwise eluded the
second Peter's clutches, till, should he seek
much farther, he must burrow into the earth.

We will not follow him in his triumphant
progress, step by step. Suffice it that Peter
worked like a steam engine, and finished, in that
one winter, the job which all the former inhab-
itants of the house, with time and the elements
to aid them, had only half done in a century.
Except the kitchen, every room and chamber
was now gutted. The Rouse was nothing but
a shell, — the apparition of a house, — as un-
real as the painted edifices of a theatre. It
was like the perfect rind of a great cheese, in
which a mouse had dwelt and nibbled till it
was a cheese no more. And Peter was the
mouse.

What Peter had torn down, Tabitha had
burned up ; for she wisely considered that,
without a house, they should need no wood to
warm it ; and therefore economy was nonsense.
Thus the whole house might be said to have
dissolved in smoke, and flown up among the
clouds, through the great black flue of the
kitchen chimney. It was an admirable parallel
230

I

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

to the feat of the man who -jumped down his
own throat.

On the night between the last day of winter
and the first of spring, every chink and cranny
had been ransacked, except within the precincts
of the kitchen. This fated evening was an ugly
one. A snowstorm had set in some hours be-
fore, and was still driven and tossed about the
atmosphere by a real hurricane, which fought
against the house as if the prince of the air, in
person, were putting the final stroke to Peter's
labors. The framework being so much weak-
ened, and the inward props removed, it would
have been no marvel if, in some stronger wrestle
of the blast, the rotten walls of the edifice, and
all the peaked roofs, had come crashing down
upon the owner's head. He, however, was care-
less of the peril, but as wild and restless as the
night itself, or as the flame that quivered up the
chimney at each roar of the tempestuous wind.

"The wine, Tabitha ! " he cried. "My
grandfather's rich old wine ! We will drink it
now ! "

Tabitha arose from her smoke-blackened
bench in the chimney-corner, and placed the
bottle before Peter, close beside the old brass
lamp, which had likewise been the prize of his
researches.' Peter held it before his eyes, and,
looking through the liquid medium, beheld the
kitchen illuminated with a golden glory, which
231

TWICE-TOLD TALES

also enveloped Tabitha and gilded her silver
hair, and converted her mean garments into
robes of queenly splendor. It reminded him
of his golden dream.

" Mr. Peter,'* remarked Tabitha, " must the
wine be drunk before the money is found ? "

" The money is found ! " exclaimed Peter,
with a sort of fierceness. " The chest is within
my reach. I will not sleep, till I have turned
this key in the rusty lock. But, first of all, let
us drink ! "

There being no corkscrew in the house, he
smote the neck of the bottle with old Peter
Goldthwaite's rusty key, and decapitated the
sealed cork at a single blow. He then filled
two little china teacups, which Tabitha had
brought from the cupboard. So clear and bril-
liant was this aged wine that it shone within the
cups, and rendered the sprig of scarlet flowers,
at the bottom of each, more distinctly visible
than when there had been no wine there. Its
rich and delicate perfume wasted itself round
the kitchen.

" Drink, Tabitha ! " cried Peter. " Bless-
ings on the honest old fellow who set aside this
good liquor for you and me ! And here 's to
Peter Goldthwaite's memory ! "

" And good cause have we to remember
him," quoth Tabitha as she drank.

How many years, and through what changes
232

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE .

of fortune and various calamity, had that bottle
hoarded up its effervescent joy, to be quaffed
at last by two such boon companions ! A
portion of the happiness of the former age
had been kept for them, and was now set free,
in a crowd of rejoicing visions, to sport amid
the storm and desolation of the present time.
Until they have finished the bottle, we must
turn our eyes elsewhere.

It so chanced that, on this stormy night, Mr.
John Brown found himself ill at ease in his
wire-cushioned armchair, by the glowing grate
of anthracite which heated' his handsome parlor.
He was naturally a good sort of a man, and kind
and pitiful whenever the misfortunes of others
happened to reach his heart through the padded
vest of his own prosperit}\ This evening he
had thought much about his old partner, Peter
Goldthwaite, his strange vagaries, and continual
ill luck, the poverty of his dwelling, at Mr.
Brown's last visit, and Peter's crazed and hag-
gard aspect when he had talked with him at the
window.

" Poor fellow ! " thought Mr. John Brown.
" Poor, crack-brained Peter Goldthwaite ! For
old acquaintance' sake, I ought to have taken
care that he was comfortable this rough winter."

These feelings grew so powerful that, in spite
of the inclement weather, he resolved to visit
Peter Goldthwaite immediately. The strength
^33

TWICE-TOLD TALES

of the impulse was r,eally singular. Every shriek
of the blast seemed a summons, or would have
seemed so, had Mr. Brown been accustomed to
hear the echoes of his own fancy in the wind.
Much amazed at such active benevolence, he
huddled himself in his cloak, muffled his throat
and ears in comforters and handkerchiefs, and,
thus fortified, bade defiance to the tempest. But
the powers of the air had rather the best of the
battle. Mr. Brown was just weathering the cor-
ner, by Peter Goldthwaite's house, when the
hurricane caught him off his feet, tossed him
face downward into a snowbank, and proceeded
to bury his protuberant part beneath fresh drifts.
There seemed little hope of his reappearance
earlier than the next thaw. At the same mo-
ment his hat was snatched away, and whirled
aloft into some far distant region, whence no
tidings have as yet returned.

Nevertheless, Mr. Brown contrived to bur-
row a passage through the snowdrift, and, with
his bare head bent against the storm, floundered
onward to Peter's door. There was such a
creaking and groaning and rattling, and such an
ominous shaking throughout the crazy edifice,
that the loudest rap would have been inau-
dible to those within. He therefore entered
without ceremony, and groped his way to the
kitchen.

His intrusion, even there, was unnoticed.
234

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

Peter and Tabitha stood with their backs to the
door, stooping over a l^rge chest, which, ap-
parently, they had just dragged from a cavity,
or concealed closet, on the left side of the chim-
ney. By the lamp in the old woman's hand,
Mr. Brown saw that the chest was barred and
clamped with iron, strengthened with iron plates
and studded with iron nails, so as to be a fit
receptacle in which the wealth of one century
might be hoarded up for the wants of another.
Peter Goldthwaite was inserting a key into the
lock.

"O Tabitha!" cried he with tremulous rap-
ture, "how shall I endure the effulgence? The
gold! — the bright, bright gold! Methinks I
can remember my last glance at it, just as the
iron-plated lid fell down. And ever since, be-
ing seventy years, it has been blazing in secret,
and gathering its splendor against this glorious
moment ! It will flash upon us like the noon-
day sun ! "

" Then shade your eyes, Mr. Peter ! " said
Tabitha, with somewhat less patience than
usual. " But, for mercy's sake, do turn the
key ! "

And, with a strong effort of both hands,
Peter did force the rusty key through the intri-
cacies of the rusty lock. Mr. Brown, in the
mean time, had drawn near, and thrust his eager
visage between those of the other two, at the
235

TWICE-TOLD TALES

instant that Peter threw up the Hd. No sud-
den blaze illuminated the kitchen.

"What 's here? " exclairwed Tabitha, adjust-
ing her spectacles, and holding the lamp over
the open chest. " Old Peter Goldthwaite's
hoard of old rags."

" Pretty much so, Tabby," said Mr. Brown,
lifting a handful of the treasure.

O, what a ghost of dead and buried wealth
had Peter Goldthwaite raised, to scare himself
out of his scanty wits withal ! Here was the
semblance of an incalculable sum, enough to
purchase the whole town, and build every street
anew, but which, vast as it was, no sane man
would have given a solid sixpence for. What,
then, in sober earnest, were the delusive trea-
sures of the chest ? Why, here were old provin-
cial bills of credit, and treasury notes, and bills
of land, banks, and all other bubbles of the sort,
from the first issue, above a century and a half
ago, down nearly to the Revolution. Bills of
a thousand pounds were intermixed with parch-
ment pennies, and worth no more than they.

" And this, then, is old Peter Goldthwaite's
treasure! " said John Brown. "Your namesake,
Peter, was something like yourself; and, when
the provincial currency had depreciated fifty or
seventy-five per cent., he bought it up in expec-
tation of a rise. I have heard my grandfather
say that old Peter gave his father a mortgage
236

**Old Peter Goldthwaite' s hoard of old rags "

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE

of this very house and land, to raise cash for
his silly project. But the currency kept sink-
ing, till nobody would take it as a gift ; and
there was old Peter Goldthwaite, like Peter the
second, with thousands in his strong box and
hardly a coat to his back. He went mad upon
the strength of it. But, never mind, Peter ! It
is just the sort of capital for building castles in
the air."

" The house will be down about our ears ! "
cried Tabitha, as the wind shook it with increas-
ing violence.

" Let it fall ! " said Peter, folding his arms,
as he seated himself upon the chest.

" No, no, my old friend Peter," said John
Brown. " I have house-room for you and
Tabby, and a safe vault for the chest of trea-
sure. To-morrow we will try to come to an
agreement about the sale of this old house.
Real estate is well up, and I could afford you
a pretty handsome price."

"And I," observed Peter Goldthwaite, with
reviving spirits, " have a plan for laying 9ut the
cash to great advantage."

" Why, as to that," muttered John Brown to
himself, " we must apply to the next court for
a guardian to take care of the solid cash ; and
if Peter insists upon speculating, he may do it,
to his heart's content, with old Peter Gold-
thwaite's Treasure."
237

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

PASSING a summer, several years since,
at Edgartown, on the island of Martha's
Vineyard, I became acquainted with a
certain carver of tombstones, who had travelled
and voyaged thither from the interior of Mas-
sachusetts, in search of professional employ-
ment. The speculation had turned out so
successful that my friend expected to transmute
slate and marble into silver and gold, to the
amount of at least a thousand dollars, during
the few months of his sojourn at Nantucket
and the Vineyard. The secluded life, and the
simple and primitive spirit which still charac-
terizes the inhabitants of those islands, espe-
cially of Martha's Vineyard, ensure their dead
friends a longer and dearer remembrance than
the daily novelty and revolving bustle of the
world can elsewhere afford to beings of the past.
Yet while every family is anxious to erect a me-
morial to its departed members, the untainted
breath of ocean bestows such health and length
of days upon the people of the isles, as would
cause a melancholy dearth of business to a resi-
dent artist in that line. His own monument,
recording his death by starvation, would prob-
238

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

ably be an early specimen of his skill. Grave-
stones, therefore, have generally been an article
of imported merchandise.

In my walks through the burial ground of
Edgartown — where the dead have lain so long
that the soil, once enriched by their decay, has
returned to its original barrenness — in that an-
cient burial ground I noticed much variety of
monumental sculpture. The elder stones, dated
a century back or more, have borders elabo-
rately carved with flowers, and are adorned with
a multiplicity of death's-heads, cross-bones,
scythes, hour-glasses, and other lugubrious em-
blems of mortality, with here and there a winged
cherub to direct the mourner's spirit upward.
These productions of Gothic taste must have
been quite beyond the colonial skill of the
day, and were probably carved in London, and
brought across the ocean to commemorate the
defunct worthies of this lonely isle. The more
recent monuments are mere slabs of slate, in
the ordinary style, without any superfluous
flourishes to set off the bald inscriptions. But
others — and those far the most impressive both
to my taste and feelings — were roughly hewn
from the gray rocks of the island, evidently by
the unskilled hands of surviving friends and rel-
atives. On some there were merely the initials
of a name ; some were inscribed with misspelt
prose or rhyme, in deep letters, which the moss
239

TWICE-TOLD TALES

and wintry rain of many years had not been able
to obliterate. These, these were graves where
loved ones slept ! It is an old theme of satire,
the falsehood and vanity of monumental eulo-
gies ; but when affection and sorrow grave the
letters with their own painful labor, then we may
be sure that they copy from the record on their
hearts.

My acquaintance, the sculptor, — he may
share that title with Greenough, since the
dauber of signs is a painter as well as Raphael,
— had found a ready market for all his blank
■slabs of marble, and full occupation in lettering
and ornamenting them. He was an elderly
man, a descendant of the old Puritan family of
Wigglesworth, with a certain simplicity and sin-
gleness both of heart and mind, which, methinks,
is more rarely found among us Yankees than in
any other community of people. In spite of
his gray head and wrinkled brow, he was quite
like a child in all matters save what had some
reference to his own business ; he seemed,
unless my fancy misled me, to view mankind
in no other relation than as people in want of
tombstones ; and his literary attainments evi-
dently comprehended very little, either of prose
or poetry, which had not, at one time or other,
been inscribed on slate or marble. His sole task
and office among the immortal pilgrims of the
tomb — the duty for which Providence had sent
240

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

the old man into the World as it were with a.
chisel in his hand — was to label the dead bod-
ies, lest their names should be forgotten at the
resurrection. Yet he had not failed, within a
narrow scope, to gather a few sprigs of earthly,,
and more than earthly, wisdom, — the harvest
of many a grave.

And lugubrious as his calling might appear,
he was as cheerful an old soul as health and
integrity and lack of care could make him, and
used to set to work upon one sorrowful inscrip-
tion or another with that sort of spirit which
impels a man to sing at his labor. On the
whole, I found Mr. Wigglesworth an enter-
taining and often instructive, if not an interest-
ing, character ; and partly for the charm of his
society, and still more because his work has an
invariable attraction for " man that is born of
woman,** I was accustomed to spend some
hours a day at his workshop. The quaintness
of his remarks, and their not infrequent truth,
— a truth condensed and pointed by the lim-
ited sphere of his view, — gave a raciness to his
talk, which mere worldliness and general culti-
vation would at once have destroyed.

Sometimes we would discuss the respective
merits of the various qualities of marble, numer-
ous slabs of which were resting against the
walls of the shop ; or sometimes an hour or two
would pass quietly, without a word on either

TWICE-TOLD TALES

side, while I watched how neatly his chisel
struck out letter after letter of the names of
the Nortons, the Mayhews, the Luces, the
Daggets, and other immemorial families of the
Vineyard. Often, with an artist's pride, the good
old sculptor would speak of favorite productions
of his skill which were scattered throughout the
village graveyards of New England. But my
chief and most instructive amusement was to
witness his interviews with his customers, who
held interminable consultations about the form
and fashion of the desired monuments, the
buried excellence to be commemorated, the
anguish to be expressed, and finally, the lowest
price in dollars and cents for which a marble
transcript of their feelings might be obtained.
Really, my mind received many fresh ideas
which, perhaps, may remain in it even longer
than Mr. Wigglesworth's hardest marble will
retain the deepest strokes of his chisel.

An elderly lady came to bespeak a monu-
ment for her first love, who had been killed by
a whale in the Pacific Ocean no less than forty
years before. It was singular that so strong an
impression of early feeling should have survived
through the changes of her subsequent life, in
the course of which she had been a wife and a
mother, and, so far as I could judge, a comfort-
able and happy woman. Reflecting within my-
self, it appeared to me that this lifelong sorrow
242.

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

— as, in all good faith, she deemed it, — was
one of the most fortunate circumstances of her
history. It had given an ideahty to her mind ;
it had kept her purer and less earthly than she
would otherwise have been, by drawing a por-
tion of her sympathies apart from earth. Amid
the throng of enjoyments and the pressure of
worldly care, and all the warm materialism of
this life, she had communed with a vision, and
had been the better for such intercourse. Faith-
ful to the husband of her maturity, and loving
him with a far more real affection than she ever
could have felt for this dream of her girlhood,
there had still been an imaginative faith to the
ocean-buried, so that an ordinary character had
thus been elevated and refined. Her sighs had
been the breath of heaven to her soul. The
good lady earnestly desired that the proposed
monument should be ornamented with a carved
border of marine plants, intertwined with twisted
sea-shells, such as were probably waving over
her lover's skeleton, or strewn around it in the
far depths of the Pacific. But Mr. Wiggles-
worth's chisel being inadequate to the task, she
was forced to content herself with a rose hang-
ing its head from a broken stem. After her
departure, I remarked that the symbol was
none of the most apt.

" And yet," said my friend the sculptor, em-
bodying in this image the thoughts that had
243

TWICE-TOLD TALES

been passing through my own mind, " that
broken rose has shed its sweet smell through
forty years of the good woman's life."

It was seldom that I could find such pleasant
food for contemplation as in the above instance.
None of the applicants, I think, affected me
more disagreeably than an old man who came,
with his fourth wife hanging on his arm, to
bespeak gravestones for the three former occu-
pants of his marriage-bed. I watched with
some anxiety to see whether his remembrance
of either were more affectionate than of the
other two, but could discover no symptom of
the kind. The three monuments were all to be
of the same material and form, and each deco-
rated, in bas-relief, with two weeping willows,
one of these sympathetic trees bending over its
fellow, which was to be broken in the midst and
rest upon a sepulchral urn. This, indeed, was
Mr. Wiggksworth's standing emblem of conju-
gal bereavement. I shuddered at the gray poly-
gamist who had so utterly lost the holy sense
of individuality in wedlock, that methought he
was fain to reckon upon his fingers how many
women, who had once slept by his side, were
now sleeping in their graves. There was even
- — if I wrong him, it is no great matter — a
glance sidelong at his living spouse, as if he
were inclined to drive a thriftier bargain by be-
speaking four gravestones in a lot. I was bet-
244

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

ter pleased with a rough old whaling captain,
who gave directions for a broad marble slab,
divided into two compartments, one of which
was to contain an epitaph on his deceased wife,
and the other to be left vacant, till death should
engrave his own name there. As is frequently
the case among the whalers of Martha's Vine-
yard, so much of this storm-beaten widower's
life had been tossed away on distant seas, that
out of twenty years of matrimony he had spent
scarce three, and those at scattered intervals,
beneath his own roof. Thus the wife of his
youth, though she died in his and her declining
age, retained the bridal dewdrops fresh around
her memory.

My observations gave me the idea, and Mr.
Wigglesworth confirmed it, that husbands were
more faithful in setting up memorials to their
dead wives than widows to their dead husbands.
I was not ill natured enough to fancy that
women, less than men, feel so sure of their
constancy as to be willing to give a pledge of it in
marble. It is more probably the fact that while
men are able to reflect upon their lost compan-
ions as remembrances apart from themselves,
women, on the other hand, are conscious that
a portion of their being has gone with the de-
parted whithersoever he has gone. Soul clings
to soul ; the living dust has a sympathy with
the dust of the grave ; and, by the very strength
245

TWICE-TOLD TALES

of that sympathy, the wife of the dead shrinks
the more sensitively from reminding the world
of its existence. The link is already strong
enough; it needs no visible symbol. And
though a shadow walks ever by her side, and
the touch of a chill hand is on her bosom, yet
life, and perchance its natural yearnings, may
still be warm within her, and inspire her with
new hopes of happiness. Then would she mark
out the grave, the scent of which would be
perceptible on the pillow of the second bridal ?
No — but rather level its green mound with
the surrounding earth, as if, when she dug up
again her buried heart, the spot had ceased to be
a grave. Yet, in spite of these sentimentalities,
I was prodigiously amused by an incident, of
which I had not the good fortune to be a wit-
ness, but which Mr. Wigglesworth related with
considerable humor. A gentlewoman of the
town, receiving news of her husband's loss at
sea, had bespoken a handsome slab of marble,
and came daily to watch the progress of my
friend's chisel. One afternoon, when the good
lady and the sculptor were in the very midst
of the epitaph, which the departed spirit might
have been greatly comforted to read, who should
walk into the workshop but the deceased him-
self, in substance as well as spirit ! He had
been picked up at sea, and stood in no present
need of tombstone or epitaph.
246

i

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

" And how," inquired I, " did his wife bear
the shock of joyful surprise ? **

" Why," said the old man, deepening the
grin of a death's-head, on which his chisel was
just then employed, " I really felt for the poor
woman ; it was one of my best pieces of marble
— and to be thrown away on a living man ! "

A comely woman, with a pretty rosebud of a
daughter, came to select a gravestone for a twin
daughter, who had died a month before. I was
impressed with the different nature of their
feelings for the dead ; the mother was calm and
woefully resigned, fully conscious of her loss, as
of a treasure which she had not always possessed,
and, therefore, had been aware that it might be
taken from her ; but the daughter evidently had
no real knowledge of what death's doings were.
Her thoughts knew, but not her heart. It
seemed to me, that by the print and pressure
which the dead sister had left upon the surviv-
or's spirit, her feelings were almost the same as
if she still stood side by side and arm in arm
with the departed, looking at the slabs of mar-
ble ; and once or twice she glanced around with
a sunny smile, which, as its sister smile had
faded forever, soon grew confusedly overshad-
owed. Perchance her consciousness was truer
than her reflection — perchance her dead sister
was a closer companion than in life. The
mother and daughter talked a long while with
247

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Mr. Wigglesworth about a suitable epitaph, and
iinally chose an ordinary verse of ill-matched
rhymes, which had already been inscribed upon
innumerable tombstones. But when we ridi-
cule the triteness of monumental verses, we for-
get that Sorrow reads far deeper in them than
we can, and finds a profound and individual
purport in what seems so vague and inexpress-
ive, unless interpreted by her. She makes the
epitaph anew, though the selfsame words may
have served for a thousand graves.

" And yet,'* said I afterwards to Mr. Wig-
glesworth, " they might have made a better
choice than this. While you were discussing the
subject, I was struck by at least a dozen sim-
ple and natural expressions from the lips of
both mother and daughter. One of these would
have formed an inscription equally original and
appropriate."

" No, no," replied the sculptor, shaking his
head ; " there is a good deal of comfort to be
gathered from these little old scraps of poetry ;
and so I always recommend them in preference
to any new-fangled ones. And somehow, they
seem to stretch to suit a great grief, and shrink
to fit a small one."

It was not seldom that ludicrous images were
excited by what took place between Mr. Wig-
glesworth and his customers. A shrewd gen-
tlewoman, who kept a tavern in the town, was
248

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

anxious to obtain two or three gravestones for
the deceased members of her family, and to pay
for these solemn commodities by taking the
sculptor to board. Hereupon a fantasy arose
in my mind of good Mr. Wigglesworth sitting
down to dinner at a broad, flat tombstone, carv-
ing one of his own plump little marble cherubs,
gnawing a pair of cross-bones, and drinking out
of a hollow death's-head, or perhaps a lachry-
matory vase, or sepulchral urn, while his host-
ess's dead children waited on him at the ghastly
banquet. On communicating this nonsensical
picture to the old man, he laughed heartily,
and pronounced my humor to be of the right
sort.

" I have lived at such a table all my days,"
said he, " and eaten no small quantity of slate
and marble."

" Hard fare ! " rejoined I, smiling ; " but you
seem to have found it excellent of digestion,
too."

A man of fifty, or thereabouts, with a harsh,
unpleasant countenance, ordered a stone for the
grave of his bitter enemy, with whom he had
waged warfare half a lifetime, to their mutual
misery and ruin. The secret of this phenome-
non was, that hatred had become the sustenance
and enjoyment of the poor wretch's soul ; it
had supplied the place of all kindly affections ;
it had been really a bond of sympathy between
249

TWICE-TOLD TALES

himself and the man who shared the passion ;
and when its object died, the unappeasable foe
was the only mourner for the dead. He ex-
pressed a purpose of being buried side by side
with his enemy.

" I doubt whether their dust will mingle,"
remarked the old sculptor to me ; for often
there was an earthliness in his conceptions.

" O yes," replied I, who had mused long
upon the incident ; " and when they rise again,
these bitter foes may find themselves dear
friends. Methinks what they mistook for
hatred was but love under a mask."

A gentleman of antiquarian propensities pro-
vided a memorial for an Indian of Chabbiqui-
dick, one of the few of untainted blood remain-
ing in that region, and said to be an hereditary
chieftain, descended from the sachem who wel-
comed Governor Mayhew to the Vineyard.
Mr. Wiggles worth exerted his best skill to carve
a broken bow and scattered sheaf of arrows, in
memory of the hunters and warriors whose race
was ended here ; but he likewise sculptured a
cherub, to denote that the poor Indian had
shared the Christian's hope of immortality.

" Why," observed I, taking a perverse view
of the winged boy and the bow and arrows, " it
looks more like Cupid's tomb than an Indian
chief's ! "

" You talk nonsense," said the sculptor, with
250

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

the offended pride of art ; he then added, with
his usual good nature, " How can Cupid die,
when there are such pretty maidens in the
Vineyard ? "

" Very true," answered I — and for the rest
of the day I thought of other matters than tomb-
stones.

At our next meeting 1 found him chiselling
an open book upon a marble headstone, and
concluded that it was meant to express the eru-
dition of some black-letter clergyman of the
Cotton Mather school. It turned out, how-
ever, to be emblematical of the scriptural know-
ledge of an old woman who had never read
anything but her Bible : and the monument
was a tribute to her piety and good works from
the Orthodox church, of which she had been a
member. In strange contrast with this Chris-
tian woman's memorial was that of an infidel,
whose gravestone, by his own direction, bore
an avowal of his belief that the spirit within him
would be extinguished like a flame, and that the
nothingness whence he sprang would receive
him again. Mr. Wigglesworth consulted me as
to the propriety of enabling a dead man's dust
to utter this dreadful creed.

" If I thought," said he, " that a single mor-
tal would read the inscription without a shud-
der, my chisel should never cut a letter of it.
But when the grave speaks such falsehoods, the
251

TWICE-TOLD TALES

soul of man will know the truth by its own
horror."

" So it will," said I, struck by the idea ; " the
poor infidel may strive to preach blasphemies
from his grave ; but it will be only another
method of impressing the soul with a conscious-
ness of immortality."

There was an old man by the name of
Norton, noted throughout the island for his
great wealth, which he had accumulated by the
exercise of strong and shrewd faculties, com-
bined with a most penurious disposition. This
wretched miser, conscious that he had not a
friend to be mindful of him in his grave, had
himself taken the needful precautions for post-
humous remembrance, by bespeaking an im-
mense slab of white marble, with a long epitaph
in raised letters, the whole to be as magnificent
as Mr. Wigglesworth's skill could make it.
There was something very characteristic in this
contrivance to have his money's worth even
from his own tombstone, which, indeed, afforded
him more enjoyment in the few months that he
lived thereafter, than it probably will in a whole
century, now that it is laid over his bones.
This incident reminds me of a young girl, — a
pale, slender, feeble creature, most unlike the
other rosy and healthful damsels of the Vine-
yard, amid whose brightness she was fading
away. Day after day did the poor maiden come
252

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

to the sculptor's shop, and pass from one piece
of marble to another, till at last she pencilled
her name upon a slender slab, which, I think,
was of a more spotless white than all the rest.
I saw her no more, but soon afterwards found
Mr. Wigglesworth cutting her virgin name into
the stone which she had chosen.

" She is dead — poor girl," said he, interrupt-
ing the tune which he was whistling, " and she
chose a good piece of stuff for her headstone.
Now which of these slabs would you like best
to see your own name upon ? "

" Why, to tell you the truth, my good Mr.
Wigglesworth," replied I, after a moment's
pause, — for the abruptness of the question
had somewhat startled me, — " to be quite sin-
cere with you, I care little or nothing about
a stone for my own grave, and am somewhat
inclined to scepticism as to the propriety of
erecting monuments at all over the dust that
once was human. The weight of these heavy
marbles, though unfelt by the dead corpse of
the enfranchised soul, presses drearily upon the
spirit of the survivor, and causes him to connect
the idea of death with the dungeon-like impris-
onment of the tomb, instead of with the freedom
of the skies. Every gravestone that you ever
made is the visible symbol of a mistaken sys-
tem. Our thoughts should soar upward with
253

TWICE-TOLD TALES

the butterfly — not linger with the exuviae that
confined him. In truth and reason, neither
those whom we call the living, and still less
the departed, have anything to do with the
grave."

" I never heard anything so heathenish ! "
said Mr. Wigglesworth, perplexed and dis-
pleased at sentiments which controverted all his
notions and feelings, and implied the utter
waste, and worse, of his whole lifers labor ;
" would you forget your 4ead friends, the mo-
ment they are under the sod ? "

" They are not under the sod," I rejoined ;
" then why should I mark the spot where there
is no treasure hidden ! Forget them ? No !
But to remember them aright, I would for-
get what they have cast off. And to gain the
truer conception of Death, I would forget the
Grave ! "

But still the good old sculptor murmured, and
stumbled, as it were, over the gravestones amid
which he had walked through life. Whether
he were right or wrong, I had grown the wiser
from our companionship, and from my obser-
vations of nature and character as displayed by
those who came, with their old griefs or their
new ones, to get them recorded upon his slabs
of marble. And yet, with my gain of wisdom,
I had likewise gained perplexity ; for there was
254

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL

a strange doubt in my mind, whether the dark
shadowing of this life, the sorrows and regrets,
have not as much real comfort in them — leav-
ing religious influences out of the question —
as what we term life's joys.
255

THE SHAKER BRIDAL

ONE day, in the sick-chamber of Father
Ephraim, who had been forty years the
presiding elder over the Shaker settle-
ment at Goshen, there was an assemblage of sev-
eral of the chief men of the sect. Individuals
had come from the rich establishment at Leba-
non, from Canterbury, Harvard, and Alfred, and
from all the other localities where this strange
people have fertilized the rugged hills of New
Englanfi by their systematic industry. An elder
was likewise there, who had made a pilgrimage
of a thousand miles from a village of the faithful
in Kentucky, to visit his spiritual kindred, the
children of the sainted Mother Ann. He had
partaken of the homely abundance of their ta-
bles, had quaffed the far-famed Shaker cider, and
had joined in the sacred dance, every step of
which is believed to alienate the enthusiast from
earth, and bear him onward to heavenly purity
and bliss. His brethren of the north had now
courteously invited him to be present on an
occasion when the concurrence of every emi-
nent member of their community was peculiarly
desirable.

The venerable Father Ephraim sat in his easy
256

THE SHAKER BRIDAL

chair, not only hoary headed and infirm with age,
but worn down by a lingering disease, which, it
was evident, would very soon transfer his patri-
archal staff to other hands. At his footstool
stood a man and woman, both clad in the Shaker
garb.

" My brethren," said Father Ephraim to the
surrounding elders, feebly exerting himself to
utter these few words, " here are the son and
daughter to whom I would commit the trust of
which Providence is about to lighten my weary
shoulders. Read their faces, I pray you, and
say whether the inward • movement of the spirit
hath guided my choice aright.**

Accordingly, each elder looked at the two
candidates with a most scrutinizing gaze. The
man, whose name was Adam Colburn, had a face
sunburnt with labor in the fields, yet intelligent,
thoughtful, and traced with cares enough for a
whole lifetime, though he had barely reached
middle age. There was something severe in his
aspect, and a rigidity throughout his person, char-
acteristics that caused him generally to be taken
for a schoolmaster ; which vocation, in fact, he
had formerly exercised for several years. The
woman, Martha Pierson, was somewhat above
thirty, thin and pale, as a Shaker sister almost
invariably is, and not entirely free from that
corpse-like appearance which the garb of the
sisterhood is so well calculated to impart.
257

TWICE-TOLD TALES

" This pair are still in the summer of their
years,'* observed the elder from Harvard, a
shrewd old man. " I would like better to see
the hoarfrost of autumn on their heads. Me-
thinks, also, they will be exposed to peculiar
temptations, on account of the carnal desires
which have heretofore subsisted between them.'*

" Nay, brother," said the elder from Canter-
bury, " the hoarfrost and the black-frost hath
done its work on Brother Adam and Sister Mar-
tha, even as we sometimes discern its traces in
our cornfields, while they are yet green. And
why should we question the wisdom of our
venerable Father's purpose, although this pair,
in their early youth, have loved one another as
the world's people love ? Are there not many
brethren and sisters among us, who have lived
long together in wedlock, yet, adopting our
faith, find their hearts purified from all but
spiritual affection ? "

Whether or no the early loves of Adam and
Martha had rendered it inexpedient that they
should now preside together over a Shaker vil-
lage, it was certainly most singular that such
should be the final result of many warm and ten-
der hopes. Children of neighboring families,
their affection was older even than their school-
days ; it seemed an innate principle, interfused
among all their sentiments and feelings, and not
so much a distinct remembrance, as connected

258

THE SHAKER BRIDAL

with their whole volume of remembrances. But,
just as they reached a proper age for their union,
misfortunes had fallen heavily on both, and made
it necessary that they should resort to personal
labor for a bare subsistence. Even under these
circumstances, Martha Pierson would probably
have consented to unite her fate with Adam Col-
burn's, and, secure of the bliss of mutual love,
would patiently have awaited the less important
gifts of fortune. But Adam, being of a calm and
cautious character, was loath to relinquish the ad-
vantages which a single man possesses for raising
himself in the world. Year after year, therefore,
their marriage had been deferred. Adam Col-
burn had followed many vocations, had travelled
far, and seen much of the world and of life.
Martha had earned her bread sometimes as a
seamstress, sometimes as help to a farmer's wife,
sometimes as schoolmistress of the village chil-
dren, sometimes as a nurse or watcher of the sick,
thus acquiring a varied experience, the ultimate
use of which she little anticipated. But nothing
had gone prosperously with either of the lovers ;
at no subsequent moment would matrimony have
been so prudent a measure as when they had first
parted, in the opening bloom of life, to seek
a better fortune. Still they had held fast their
mutual faith. Martha might have been the
wife of a man who sat among the senators of
his native state, and Adam could have won the
259

TWICE-TOLD TALES

hand, as he had unintentionally won the heart,
of a rich and comely widow. But neither of
them desired good fortune save to share it with
the other.

At length that calm despair which occurs only
in a strong and somewhat stubborn character, and
yields to no second spring of hope, settled down
on the spirit of Adam Colburn. He sought an
interview with Martha, and proposed that they
should join the Society of Shakers. The con-
verts of this sect are oftener driven within its hos-
pitable gates by worldly misfortune than drawn
thither by fanaticism, and are received without
inquisition as to their motives. Martha, faith-
ful still, had placed her hand in that of her lover,
and accompanied him to the Shaker village.
Here the natural capacity of each, cultivated and
strengthened by the difficulties of their previous
lives, had soon gained them an important rank
in the Society, whose members are generally be-
low the ordinary standard of intelligence. Their
faith and feelings had, in some degree, become
assimilated to those of their fellow worshippers.
Adam Colburn gradually acquired reputation,
not only in the management of the temporal
affairs of the Society, but as a clear and efficient
preacher of their doctrines. Martha was not less
distinguished in the duties proper to her sex.
Finally, when the infirmities of Father Ephraim
had admonished him to seek a successor in his
260

THE SHAKER BRIDAL

patriarchal office, he thought of Adam and Mar-
tha, and proposed to renew, in their persons, the
primitive form of Shaker government, as estab-
lished by Mother Ann. They were to be the
Father and Mother of the village. The simple
ceremony, which would constitute them such,
was now to be performed.

" Son Adam, and daughter Martha," said the
venerable Father Ephraim, fixing his aged eyes
piercingly upon them, " if ye can conscientiously
undertake this charge, speak, that the brethren
may not doubt of your fitness."

" Father," replied Adam, speaking with the
calmness of his character, " I came to your vil-
lage a disappointed man, weary of the world,
worn out with continual trouble, seeking only a
security against evil fortune, as I had no hope
of good. Even my wishes of worldly success
were almost dead within me. I came hither as
a man might come to a tomb, wilKng to lie down
in its gloom and coldness, for the sake of its
peace and quiet. There was but one earthly
affection in my breast, and it had grown calmer
since my youth ; so that I was satisfied to bring
Martha to be my sister, in our new abode. We
are brother and sister ; nor would I have it other-
wise. And in this peaceful village I have found
all that I hoped for, — all that I desire. I will
strive, with my best strength, for the spiritual
and temporal good of our community. My con-
261

TWICE-TOLD TALES

science is not doubtful in this matter. I am
ready to receive the trust/'

" Thou hast spoken well, son Adam," said the
Father. " God will bless thee in the office which
I am about to resign."

" But our sister ! " observed the elder from
Harvard, " hath she not likewise a gift to declare
her sentiments ? "

Martha started, and moved her lips, as if she
would have made a formal reply to this appeal. .
But, had she attempted it, perhaps the old recol-
lections, the long-repressed feelings of childhood,
youth, and womanhood, might have gushed from
her heart, in words that it would have been pro-
fanation to utter there.

" Adam has spoken," said she hurriedly ; " his
sentiments are likewise mine."

But while speaking these few words, Martha
grew so pale that she looked fitter to be laid
in her coffin than to stand in the presence of
Father Ephraim and the elders ; she shuddered,
also, as if there were something awful or horri-
ble in her situation and destiny. It required, in-
deed, a more thamfeminine strength of nerve, to
sustain the fixed observance of men so exalted and
famous throughout the sect as these were. They
had overcome their natural sympathy with hu-
man frailties and affections. One, when he joined
the Society, had brought with him his wife and
children, but never, from that hour, had spoken
262

I

THE SHAKER BRIDAL

a fond word to the former, or taken his best-
loved child upon his knee. Another, whose
family refused to follow him, had been enabled
— such was his gift of holy fortitude — to leave
them to the mercy of the world. The youngest
of the elders, a man of about fifty, had been bred
from infancy in a Shaker village, and was said
never to have clasped a woman's hand in his own,
and to have no conception of a closer tie than
the cold fraternal one of the sect. Old Father
Ephraim was the most awful character of all. In
his youth he had been a dissolute libertine, but
was converted by Mother Ann herself, and had
partaken of the wild fanaticism of the early
Shakers. Tradition whispered, at the firesides
of the village, that Mother Ann had been com-
pelled to sear his heart of flesh with a red-hot iron
before it could be purified from earthly passions.

However that might be, poor Martha had
a woman's heart, and a tender one, and it
quailed within her, as she looked round at those
strange old men, and from them to the calm
features of Adam Colburn. But perceiving that
the elders eyed her doubtfully, she gasped for
breath, and again spoke.

" With what strength is left me by my many
troubles," said she, " I am ready to undertake
this charge, and to do my best in it."

" My children, join your hands," said Father
Ephraim.

263

TWICE-TOLD TALES

They did so. The elders stood up around,
and the Father feebly raised himself to a more
erect position, but continued sitting in his great
chair.

"I have bidden you to join your hands,"
said he, " not in earthly affection, for ye have
cast off its chains forever ; but as brother and
sister in spiritual love, and helpers of one an-
other in your allotted task. Teach unto others
the faith which ye have received. Open wide
your gates, — I deliver you the keys thereof,
— open them wide to all who will give up the
iniquities of the world, and come hither to lead
lives of purity and peace. Receive the weary
ones, who have known the vanity of earth, —
receive the little children, that they may never
learn that miserable lesson. And a blessing be
upon your labors ; so that the time may hasten
on, when the mission of Mother Ann shall have
wrought its full effect, — when children shall no
more be born and die, and the last survivor of
mortal race, some old and weary man like me,
shall see the sun go down, nevermore to rise on
a world of sin and sorrow ! "

The aged Father sank back exhausted, and
the surrounding elders deemed, with good rea-
son, that the hour was come when the new heads
of the village must enter on their patriarchal
duties. In their attention to Father Ephraim,
their eyes were turned from Martha Pierson,
264

THE SHAKER BRIDAL

who grew paler and paler, unnoticed even by
Adam Colburn. He, indeed, had withdrawn
his hand from hers, and folded his arms with
a sense of satisfied ambition. But paler and
paler grew Martha by his side, till, like a corpse
in its burial clothes, she sank down at the feet
of her early lover ; for, after many trials firmly
borne, her heart could endure the weight of its
desolate agony no longer.
265

NIGHT SKETCHES

BENEATH AN UMBRELLA

PLEASANT is a rainy winter's day,
within doors ! The best study for such
a day, or the best amusement, — call it
which you will, — is a book of travels, describ-
ing scenes the most unlike that sombre one
which is mistily presented through the windows.
I have experienced that fancy is then most suc-
cessful in imparting distinct shapes and vivid
colors to the objects which the author has spread
upon his page, and that his words become magic
spells to summon up a thousand varied pic-
tures. Strange landscapes glimmer through the
familiar walls of the room, and outlandish fig-
ures thrust themselves almost within the sacred
precincts of the hearth. Small as my chamber
is, it has space enough to contain the ocean-like
circumference of an Arabian desert, its parched
sands tracked by the long line of a caravan,
with the camels patiently journeying through
the heavy sunshine. Though my ceiling be
not lofty, yet I can pile up the mountains of
Central Asia beneath it, till their summits shine
far above the clouds of the middle atmosphere.
266

NIGHT SKETCHES

And with my humble means, a wealth that is
not taxable, I can transport hither the magnifi-
cent merchandise of an Oriental bazaar, and call
a crowd of purchasers from distant countries to
pay a fair profit for the precious articles which
ar.e displayed on all sides. True it is, however,
that amid the bustle of traffic, or whatever else
may seem to be going on around me, the rain-
drops will occasionally be heard to patter against
my window-panes, which look forth upon one
of the quietest streets in a New England town.
After a time, too, the visions vanish, and will
not appear again at my bidding. Then, it
being nightfall, a gloomy sense of unreality de-
presses my spirits, and impels me to venture
out, before the clock shall strike bedtime, to
satisfy myself that the world is not entirely
made up of such shadowy materials as have
busied me throughout the day. A dreamer may
dwell so long among fantasies, that the things
without him will seem as unreal as those within.
When eve has fairly set in, therefore, I sally
forth, tightly buttoning my shaggy overcoat,
and hoisting my umbrella, the silken dome of
which immediately resounds with the heavy
drumming of the invisible raindrops. Pausing
on the lowest doorstep, I contrast the warmth
and cheerfulness of my deserted fireside with
the drear obscurity and chill discomfort into
which I am about to plunge. Now come fear-
267

TWICE-TOLD TALES

fill auguries, innumerable as the drops of rain.
Did not my manhood cry shame upon me, I
should turn back within doors, resume my
elbow-chair, my slippers, and my book, pass
such an evening of sluggish enjoyment as the
day has been, and go to bed inglorious. The
same shivering reluctance, no doubt, has quelled,
for a moment, the adventurous spirit of many
a traveller, when his feet, which were destined
to measure the earth around, were leaving their
last tracks in the home paths.

In my own case, poor human nature may be
allowed a few misgivings. I look upward, and
discern no sky, not even an unfathomable void,
but only a black, impenetrable nothingness, as
though heaven and all its lights were blotted
from the system of the universe. It is as if
Nature were dead, and the world had put on
black, and the clouds were weeping for her.
With their tears upon my cheek, I turn my
eyes earthward, but find little consolation here
below. A lamp is burning dimly at the distant
corner, and throws just enough of light along
the street to show, and exaggerate by so faintly
showing, the perils and difficulties which beset
my path. Yonder dingily white remnant of a
huge snowbank, — which will yet cumber the
sidewalk till the latter days of March, — over or
through that wintry waste must I stride onward.
Beyond lies a certain Slough of Despond, a con-
268

NIGHT SKETCHES

coction of mud and liquid filth, ankle-deep, leg-
deep, neck-deep, — in a word, of unknown bot-
tom, — on which the lamplight does not even
glimmer, but which I have occasionally watched
in the gradual growth of its horrors from morn
till nightfall. Should I flounder into its depths,
farewell to upper earth ! And hark ! how
roughly resounds the roaring of a stream, the
turbulent career of which is partially reddened
by the gleam of the lamp, but elsewhere brawls
noisily through the densest gloom. O, should
I be swept away in fording that impetuous and
unclean torrent, the coroner will have a job with
an unfortunate gentleman who would fain end
his troubles anywhere but in a mud puddle !

Pshaw ! I will Hnger not another instant at
arm's-length from these dim' terrors, which grow
more obscurely formidable the longer I delay
to grapple with them. Now for the onset !
And lo ! with little damage, save a dash of rain
in the face and breast, a splash of mud high up
the pantaloons, and the left boot full of ice-cold
water, behold me at the corner of the street.
The lamp throws down a circle of red light
around me : and twinkling onward from corner
to corner I discern other beacons marshalling
my way to a brighter scene. But this is a lone-
some and dreary spot. The tall edifices bid
gloomy defiance to the storm, with their blinds
all closed, even as a man winks when he faces
269

TWICE-TOLD TALES

a spattering gust. How loudly tinkles the col-
lected rain down the tin spouts ! The puffs of
wind are boisterous, and seem to assail me from
various quarters at once. I have often observed
that this corner is a haunt and loitering-place
for those winds which have no work to do upon
the deep, dashing ships against our iron-bound
shores ; nor in the forest, tearing up the sylvan
giants with half a rood of soil at their vast ro6ts.
Here they amuse themselves with lesser freaks
of mischief See, at this moment, how they
assail yonder poor woman, who is passing just
within the verge of the lamplight ! One blast
struggles for her umbrella, and turns it wrong
side outward ; another whisks the cape of her
cloak across her eyes ; while a third takes most
unwarrantable liberties with the lower part of
her attire. Happily the good dame is no gos-
samer, but a figure of rotundity and fleshly
substance ; else would these aerial tormentors
whirl her aloft, like a witch upon a broomstick,
and set her down, doubtless, in the filthiest ken-
nel hereabout.

From hence I tread upon firm pavements
into the centre of the town. Here there is al-
most as brilliant an illumination as when some
great victory has been won, either on the battle-
field or at the polls. Two rows of shops, with
windows down nearly to the ground, cast a glow
from side to side, while the black night hangs
270

NIGHT SKETCHES

overhead like a canopy, and thus keeps the
splendor from difRising itself away. The wet
sidewalks gleam with a broad sheet of red light.
The raindrops glitter, as if the sky were pour-
ing down rubies. The spouts gush with fire.
Methinks the scene is an emblem of the decep-
tive glare which mortals throw around their
footsteps in the moral world, thus bedazzling
themselves till they forget the impenetrable
obscurity that hems them in, and that can be
dispelled only by radiance from above. And,
after all, it is a cheerless scene, and cheerless are
the wanderers in it. Here comes one who has
so long been familiar with tempestuous weather
that he takes the bluster of the storm for a
friendly greeting, as if it should say, " How
fare ye, brother ? " He is a retired sea-captain,
wrapped in some nameless garment of the pea-
jacket order, and is now laying his course to-
wards the Marine Insurance Office, there to spin
yarns of gale and shipwreck with a crew of old
sea-dogs like himself. The blast will put in its
word among their hoarse voices, and be under-
stood by all of them. Next I meet an unhappy
slipshod gentleman, with a cloak flung hastily
over his shoulders, running a race with boister-
ous winds, and striving to glide between the
drops of rain. Some domestic emergency or
other has blown this miserable man from his
warm fireside in quest of a doctor ! See that
271

TWICE-TOLD TALES

little vagabond — how carelessly he has taken
his stand right underneath a spout, while staring
at some object of curiosity in a shop-window !
Surely the rain is his native element ; he must
have fallen with it from the clouds, as frogs are
supposed to do.

Here is a picture, and a pretty one. A
young man and a girl, both enveloped in cloaks,
and huddled beneath the scanty protection of a
cotton umbrella. She wears rubber overshoes,
but he is in his dancing-pumps ; and they are
on their way, no doubt, to some cotillon party,
or subscription ball at a dollar a head, refresh-
ments included. Thus they struggle against
the gloomy tempest, lured onward by a vision
of festal splendor. But, ah ! a most lamentable
disaster. Bewildered by the red, blue, and yel-
low meteors in an apothecary's window, they
have stepped upon a slippery remnant of ice,
and are precipitated into a confluence of swollen
floods, at the corner of two streets. Luckless
lovers ! Were it my nature to be other than a
looker-on in life, I would attempt your rescue.
Since that may not be, I vow, should you be
drowned, to weave such a pathetic story of your
fate as shall call forth tears enough to drown you
both anew. Do ye touch bottom, my young
friends ? Yes ; they emerge like a water ijymph
and a river deity, and paddle hand in hand
out of the depths of the dark pool. They hurry
272

NIGHT SKETCHES

homeward, dripping, disconsolate, abashed, but
with love too warm to be chilled by the cold
water. They have stood a test which proves
too strong for many. Faithful, though over
head and ears in trouble !

Onward I go, deriving a sympathetic joy or
sorrow from the varied aspect of mortal affairs,
even as my figure catches a gleam from the
lighted windows, or is blackened by an interval
of darkness. Not that mine is altogether a
chameleon spirit, with no hue of its own. Now
I pass into a more retired street, where the
dwellings of wealth and poverty are intermin-
gled, presenting a range of strongly contrasted
pictures. Here, too, may be found the golden
mean. Through yonder casement I discern a
family circle, — the grandmother, the parents,
and the children, — all flickering, shadow-like,
in the glow of a wood fire. Bluster, fierce blast,
and beat, thou wintry rain, against the window-
panes ! Ye cannot damp the enjoyment of that
fireside. Surely my fate is hard that I should
be wandering homeless here, taking to my
bosom night and storm and solitude, instead of
wife and children. Peace, murmurer ! Doubt
not that darker guests are sitting round the
hearth, though the warm blaze hides all but
blissful images. Well ; here is still a brighter
scene. A stately mansion illuminated for a ball,
with cut-glas? chandeliers and alabaster lamps
273

TWICE-TOLD TALES

in every room, and sunny landscapes hanging
round the walls. See ! a coach has stopped,
whence emerges a slender beauty, who, canopied
by two umbrellas, glides within the portal, and
vanishes amid lightsome thrills of music. Will
she ever feel the night wind and the rain ? Per-
haps, — perhaps ! And will Death and Sorrow
ever enter that proud mansion ? As surely as
the dancers will be gay within its halls to-night.
Such thoughts sadden, yet satisfy my heart;
for they teach me that the poor man in this
mean, weather-beaten hovel, without a fire to
cheer him, may call the rich his brother, —
brethren by Sorrow, who must be an inmate of
both their households, — brethren by Death,
who will lead them both to other homes.

Onward, still onward, I plunge into the night.
Now have I reached the utmost limits of the
town, where the last lamp struggles feebly with
the darkness, like the farthest star that stands
sentinel on the borders of uncreated space. It
is strange what sensations of sublimity may
spring from a very humble source. Such are
suggested by this hollow roar of a subterranean
cataract, where the mighty stream of a kennel
precipitates itself beneath an iron grate, and is
seen no more on earth. Listen awhile to its
voice of mystery, and fancy will magnify it till
you start and smile at the illusion. And now
another sound, — the rumbling of wheels, —
274

NIGHT SKETCHES

as the mail-coach, outward bound, rolls heavily
off the pavement, and splashes through the mud
and water of the road. All night long the poor
passengers will be tossed to and fro between
drowsy watch and troubled sleep, and will dream
of their own quiet beds, and awake to find
themselves still jolting onward. Happier my
lot, who will straightway hie me to my familiar
room, and toast myself comfortably before the
fire, musing and fitfully dozing, and fancying a
strangeness in such sights as all may see. But
first let me gaze at this solitary figure who
comes hitherward with a tin lantern, which
throws the circular pattern of its punched holes
on the ground about him. He passes fearlessly
into the unknown gloom, whither I will not
follow him.

This figure shall supply me with a moral,
wherewith, for lack of a more appropriate one,
I may wind up my sketch. He fears not to
tread the dreary path before him, because his
lantern, which was kindled at the fireside of his
home, will light him back to that same fireside
again. And thus we, night wanderers through
a stormy and dismal world, if we bear the lamp
of Faith, enkindled at a celestial fire, it will
surely lead us home to that heaven whence its
radiance was borrowed.

275

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

AT noon of an autumnal day, more than
/-\ two centuries ago, the English colors
-^ -^ were displayed by the standard-bearer
of the Salem trainband, which had mustered for
martial exercise under the orders of John Endi-
cott. It was a period when the religious exiles
were accustomed often to buckle on their ar-
mor, and practise the handling of their weapons
of war. Since the first settlement of New Eng-
land, its prospects had never been so dismal.
The dissensions between Charles the First and
his subjects were then, and for several years
afterwards, confined to the floor of Parliament.
The measures of the King and ministry were
rendered more tyrannically violent by an oppo-
sition, which had not yet acquired sufficient con-
fidence in its own strength to resist royal injus-
tice with the sword. The bigoted and haughty
primate. Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, con-
trolled the religious affairs of the realm, and
was consequently invested with powers which
might have wrought the utter ruin of the two
Puritan colonies, Plymouth and Massachusetts.
There is evidence on record that our forefathers
perceived their danger, but were resolved that-
276

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

their infant country should not fall without a
struggle, even beneath the giant strength of the
King's right arm.

Such was the aspect of the times when the
folds of the English banner, with the Red Cross
in its field, were flung out over a company
of Puritans. Their leader, the famous Endicott,
was a man of stern and resolute countenance,
the effect of which was heightened by a griz-
zled beard that swept the upper portion of
his breastplate. This piece of armor was so
highly polished that the whole surrounding
scene had its image in the glittering steel. The
central object in the mirrored picture was an edi-
fice of humble architecture with neither steeple
nor bell to proclaim it — what nevertheless it
was — the house of prayer. A token of the
perils of the wilderness was seen in the grim
head of a wolf, which had just been slain within
the precincts of the town, and according to the
regular mode of claiming the bounty, was nailed
on the porch of the meeting-house. The blood
was still plashing on the doorstep. There hap-
pened to be visible, at the same noontide hour,
so many other characteristics of the times and
manners of the Puritans, that we must endeavor
to represent them in a sketch, though far less
vividly than they were reflected in the polished
breastplate of John Endicott.

In close vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared
277

TWICE-TOLD TALES

that important engine of Puritanic authority, the
whipping-post — with the soil around it well
trodden by the feet of evil-doers, who had there
been disciplined. At one corner of the meet-
ing-house was the pillory, and at the other the
stocks ; and, by a singular good fortune for our
sketch, the head of an Episcopalian and sus-
pected Catholic was grotesquely encased in the
former machine ; while a fellow criminal, who
had boisterously quaffed a health to the King,
was confined by the legs in the latter. Side by
side, on the meeting-house steps, stood a male
and a female figure. The man was a tall, lean,
haggard personification of fanaticism, bearing on
his breast this label, — A Wanton Gospeller,
— which betokened that he had dared to give
interpretations of Holy Writ unsanctioned by
the infallible judgment of the civil and religious
rulers. His aspect showed no lack of zeal to
maintain his heterodoxies, even at the stake.
The woman wore a cleft stick on her tongue, in
appropriate retribution for having wagged that
unruly member against the elders of the church ;
and her countenance and gestures gave much
cause to apprehend that, the moment the stick
should be removed, a repetition of the offence
would demand new ingenuity in chastising it.

The above-mentioned individuals had been
sentenced to undergo their various modes of
ignominy, for the space of one hour at noon-

278

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

day. But among the crowd were several whose
punishment would be life-long ; some, whose
ears had been cropped, like those of puppy
dogs ; others, whose cheeks had been branded
with the initials of their misdemeanors ; one,
with his nostrils slit and seared ; and another,
witTi a halter about his neck, which he was for-
bidden ever to take off, or to conceal beneath
his garments. Methinks he must have been
grievously tempted to affix the other end of
the rope to some convenient beam or bough.
There was likewise a young woman, with no
mean share of beauty, whose doom it was to
wear the letter A on the breast of her gown, in
the eyes of all the world and her own children.
And even her own children knew what that ini-
tial signified. Sporting with her infamy, the
lost and desperate creature had embroidered the
fatal token in scarlet cloth, with golden thread
and the nicest art of needlework ; so that the
capital A might have been thought to mean
Admirable, or anything rather than Adulteress.
Let not the reader argue, from any of these
evidences of iniquity, that the times of the Puri-
tans were more vicious than our own, when, as
we pass along the very street of this sketch, we
discern no badge of infamy on man or woman.
It was the policy of our ancestors to search out
even the most secret sins, and expose them to
shame, without fear or favor, in the broadest
279

TWICE-TOLD TALES

light of the noonday sun. Were such the cus-
tom now, perchance we might find materials for
a no less piquant sketch than the above.

Except the malefactors whom we have de-
scribed, and the diseased or infirm persons, the
whole male population of the town, between
sixteen years and sixty, were seen in the ranks
of the trainband. A few stately savages, in all
the pomp and dignity of the primeval Indian,
stood gazing at the spectacle. Their flint-
headed arrows were but childish weapons com-
pared with the matchlocks of the Puritans, and
would have rattled harmlessly against the steel
caps and hammered iron breastplates which en-
closed each soldier in an individual fortress.
The valiant John Endicott glanced with an eye
of pride at his sturdy followers, and prepared
to renew the martial toils of the day.

" Come, my stout hearts ! " quoth he, draw-
ing his sword. " Let us show these poor hea-
then that we can handle our weapons like men
of might. Well for them, if they put us not to
prove it in earnest ! "

The iron-breasted company straightened their
line, and each man drew the heavy butt of his
matchlock close to his left foot, thus awaiting
the orders of the captain. But, as Endicott
glanced right and left along the front, he dis-
covered a personage at some little distance with
whom it behooved him to hold a parley. It
280

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

was an elderly gentleman, wearing a black cloak
and band, and a high-crowned hat, beneath
which was a velvet skull-cap, the whole being
the garb of a Puritan minister. This reverend
person bore a staff which seemed to have been
recently cut in the forest, and his shoes were
bemired as if he had been travelling on foot
through the swamps of the wilderness. His
aspect was perfectly that of a pilgrim, heightened
also by an apostolic dignity. Just as Endicott
perceived him, he laid aside his staff, and stooped
to drink at a bubbling fountain which gushed
into the sunshine about a score of yards from
the corner of the meeting-house. But, ere the
good man drank, he turned his face heavenward
in thankfulness, and then, holding back his gray
beard with one hand, he scooped up his simple
draught in the hollow of the other.

" What, ho ! good Mr. Williams," shouted
Endicott. " You are welcome back again to our
town of peace. How does our worthy Governor
Winthrop ? And what news from Boston ? "

" The Governor hath his health, worshipful
Sir," answered Roger Williams, now resuming
his staff, and drawing near. " And for the
news, here is a letter, which, knowing I was to
travel hitherward to-day, his Excellency com-
mitted to my charge. Belike it contains tidings
of much import ; for a ship arrived yesterday
from England."

281

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Mr. Williams, the minister of Salem, and of
course known to all the spectators, had now
reached the spot where Endicott was standing
under the banner of his company, and put the
Governor's epistle into his hand. The broad
seal was impressed with Winthrop*s coat of
arms. Endicott hastily unclosed the letter and
began to read, while, as his eye passed down
the page, a wrathful change came over his manly
countenance. The blood glowed through it,
till it seemed to be kindling with an internal
heat ; nor was it unnatural to suppose that his
breastplate would likewise become red-hot with
the angry fire of the bosom which it covered.
Arriving at the conclusion, he shook the letter
fiercely in his hand, so that it rustled as loud as
the flag above his head.

" Black tidings these, Mr. Williams," said
he ; " blacker never came to New England.
Doubtless you know their purport ? "

" Yea, truly," replied Roger Williams ; " for
the Governor consulted, respecting this matter,
with my brethren in the ministry at Boston ;
and my opinion was likewise asked. And his
Excellency entreats you by me, that the news
be not suddenly noised abroad, lest the people
be stirred up unto some outbreak, and thereby
give the King and the Archbishop a handle
against us."

" The Governor is a wise man — a wise man,
282

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

and a meek and moderate," said Endicott, set-
ting his teeth grimly. " Nevertheless, I must
do according to my own best judgment. There
is neither man, woman, nor child in New Eng-
land, but has a concern as dear as life in these
tidings ; and if John Endicott's voice be loud
enough, man, woman, and child shall hear them.
Soldiers, wheel into a hollow square ! Ho,
good people ! Here are news for one and all
of you.*'

The soldiers closed in around their captain ;
and he and Roger Williams stood together
under the banner of the Red Cross ; while the
women and the aged men pressed forward, and
the mothers held up their children to look
Endicott in the face. A few taps of the drum
gave signal for silence and attention.

" Fellow soldiers, — fellow exiles," began
Endicott, speaking under strong excitement,
yet powerfully restraining it, " wherefore did
ye leave your native country ? Wherefore, I
say, have we left the green and fertile fields,
the cottages, or, perchance, the old gray halls,'
where we were born and bred, the churchyards
where our forefathers lie buried ? Wherefore
have we come hither to set up our own tomb-
stones in a wilderness ? A howling wilderness
it is ! The wolf and the bear meet us within
halloo of our dwellings. The savage lieth in
wait for us in the dismal shadow of the woods.
283

TWICE-TOLD TALES

The stubborn roots of the trees break our
ploughshares, when we would till the earth.
Our children cry for bread, and we must dig
in the sands of the sea-shore to satisfy them.
Wherefore, I say again, have we sought this
country of a rugged soil and wintry sky ?
Was it not for the enjoyment of our civil
rights ? Was it not for liberty to worship God
according to our conscience ? "

" Call you this liberty of conscience ? " inter-
rupted a voice on the steps of the meeting-
house.

It was the Wanton Gospeller. A sad and
quiet smile flitted across the mild visage of
Roger Williams. But Endicott, in the excite-
ment of the moment, shook his sword wrath-
fully at the culprit — an ominous gesture from
a man like him.

" What hast thou to do with conscience, thou
knave ? " cried he. " I said liberty to worship
God, not license to profane and ridicule Him.
Break not in upon my speech, or I will lay
thee neck and heels till this time to-morrow !
Hearken to me, friends, nor heed that accursed
rhapsodist. As I was saying, we have sacrificed
all things, and have come to a land whereof the
old world hath scarcely heard, that we might
make a new world unto ourselves, and painfully
seek a path from hence to heaven. But what
think ye now? This son of a Scotch tyrant —
284

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

this grandson of a Papistical and adulterous
Scotch woman, whose death proved that a
golden crown doth not always save an anointed
head from the block " —

"Nay, brother, nay," interposed Mr. Wil-
liams ; " thy words are not meet for a secret
chamber, far less for a public street."

" Hold thy peace, Roger Williams ! " an-
swered Endicott imperiously. " My spirit is
wiser than thine for the business now in hand.
I tell ye, fellow exiles, that Charles of England,
and Laud, our bitterest persecutor, arch-priest
of Canterbury, are resolute to pursue us even
hither. They ard taking counsel, saith this
letter, to send over a governor-general, in
whose breast shall be deposited all the law and
equity of the land. They are minded, also,
to establish the idolatrous forms of English
Episcopacy ; so that, when Laud shall kiss
the Pope*s toe, as cardinal of Rome, he may
deliver New England, bound hand and foot,
into the power of his master ! "

A deep groan from the auditors — a sound
of wrath, as well as fear and sorrow — re-
sponded to this intelligence.

" Look ye to it, brethren," resumed Endi-
cott with increasing energy. "If this king and
this arch-prelate have their will, we shall briefly
behold a cross on the spire of this tabernacle
which we have builded, and a high altar within
285

TWICE-TOLD TALES

its walls, with wax tapers burning round it at
noonday. We shall hear the sacring bell, and
the voices of the Romish priests saying the
mass. But think ye, Christian men, that these
abominations may be suffered without a sword
drawn ? without a shot fired ? without blood
spilt, yea, on the very stairs of the pulpit? No,
— be ye strong of hand and stout of heart !
Here we stand on our own soil, which we have
bought with our goods, which we have won with
our swords, which we have cleared with our
axes, which we have tilled with the sweat of
our brows, which we have sanctified with our
prayers to the God that brought us hither !
Who shall enslave us here ? What have we
to do with this mitred prelate, — with this
crowned king ? What have we to do with
England ? "

Endicott gazed round at the excited coun-
tenances of the people, now full of his own
spirit, and then turned suddenly to the stan-
dard-bearer, who stood close behind him.

'' Officer, lower your banner ! " said he.

The officer obeyed ; and, brandishing his
sword, Endicott thrust it through the cloth,
and, with his left hand, rent the Red Cross
completely out of the banner. He then waved
the tattered ensign above his head.

" Sacrilegious wretch ! " cried the high-
churchman in the pillory, unable longer to
286

Endicott . . . rent the Red Cross completely out of the banner

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

restrain himself, " thou hast rejected the symbol
of our holy religion ! "

" Treason, treason ! " roared the royalist in
the stocks. "He hath defaced the King's ban-
ner ! "

" Before God and man, I will avouch the
deed," answered Endicott. " Beat a flourish,
drummer ! — shout, soldiers and people ! — in
honor of the ensign of New England. Neither
Pope nor Tyrant hath part in it now ! "

With a cry of triumph, the people gave their
sanction to one of the boldest exploits which
our "history records. And forever honored be
the name of Endicott ! We look back through
the mist of ages, and recognize in the rending
of the Red Cross from New England's banner
the first omen of that deliverance which our
fathers consummated after the bones of the
stern Puritan had lain more than a century in
the dust.

287

THE LILY'S QUEST

AN APOLOGUE

[Among Hawthorne's notes under date of 1 836 is the fol-
lowing : ** Two lovers to plan the building of a pleasure-house
on a certain spot of ground, but various seeming accidents pre-
vent it. Once they find a group of miserable children there ;
once it is the scene where crime is plotted ; at last the dead
body of one of the lovers or of a dear friend is found there ;
and, instead of a pleasure-house, they build a marble 'tomb.
The moral — that there is no place on earth fit for the site of
a pleasure-house, because there is no spot that may not have
been saddened by human grief, stained by crime, or hallowed
by death. It might be three friends who plan it, instead of
two lovers ; and the dearest one dies."]

TWO lovers, once upon a time, had
planned a little summer-house, in the
form of an antique temple, which it was
their purpose to consecrate to all manner of
refined and innocent enjoyments. There they
would hold pleasant intercourse with one an-
other and the circle of their familiar friends ;
there they would give festivals of delicious fruit ;
there they would hear lightsome music, inter-
mingled with the strains of pathos which make
joy more sweet ; there they would read poetry
and fiction, and permit their own minds to flit
288

THE LILY'S QUEST

away in day-dreams and romance ; there, in short
— for why should we shape out the vague sun-
shine of their hopes ? — there all pure delights
were to cluster like roses among the pillars of
the edifice, and blossom ever new and sponta-
neously. So, one breezy and cloudless afternoon,
Adam Forrester and Lilias Fay set out upon a
ramble over the wide estate which they were to
possess together, seeking a proper site for their
Temple of Happiness. They were themselves
a fair and happy spectacle, fit priest and priestess
for such a shrine ; although, making poetry of
the pretty name of Lilias, Adam Forrester was
wont to call her Lily, because her form was as
fragile, and her cheek almost as pale.

As they passed hand in hand down the ave-
nue of drooping elms that led from the portal
of Lilias Fay*s paternal mansion, they seemed to
glance like winged creatures through the strips
of sunshine, and to scatter brightness where the
deep shadows fell. But setting forth at the same
time with this youthful pair, there was a dismal
figure, wrapped in a black velvet cloak that might
have been made of a coffin pall, and with a som-
bre hat such as mourners wear drooping its broad
brim over his heavy brows. Glancing behind
them, the lovers well knew who it was that
followed, but wished from their hearts that he
had been elsewhere, as being a companion so
strangely unsuited to their joyous errand. It
289

TWICE-TOLD TALES

was a near relative of Lilias Fay, an old man by
the name of Walter Gascoigne, who had long
labored under the burden of a melancholy spirit,
which was sometimes maddened into absolute
insanity, and always had a tinge of it. What a
contrast between the young pilgrims of bliss and
their unbidden associate ! They looked as if
moulded of heaven's sunshine, and he of earth's
gloomiest shade ; they flitted along like Hope
and Joy roaming hand in hand through life,
while his darksome figure stalked behind, a type
of all the woeful influences which life could fling
upon them. But the three had not gone far when
they reached a spot that pleased the gentle Lily,
and she paused.

"What sweeter place shall we find than this ? "
said she. " Why should we seek farther for the
site of our Temple ? "

It was indeed a delightful spot of earth, though
undistinguished by any very prominent beauties,
being merely a nook in the shelter of a hill, with
the prospect of a distant lake in one direction,
and of a church spire in another. There were
vistas and pathways leading onward and onward
into the green woodlands, and vanishing away in
the glimmering shade. The Temple, if erected
here, would look towards the west : so that the
lovers could shape all sorts of magnificent dreams
out of the purple, violet, and gold of the sunset
290

THE LILY^S QUEST

sky ; and few of their anticipated pleasures were
dearer than this sport of fantasy.

" Yes," said Adam Forrester, " we might seek
all day and find no lovelier spot. We will build
our Temple here."

But their sad old companion, who had taken
his stand on the very site which they proposed
to cover with a marble floor, shook his head and
frowned ; and the young man and the Lily
deemed it almost enough to blight the spot, and
desecrate it for their airy Temple, that his dis-
mal figure had thrown its shadow there. He
pointed to some scattered stones, the remnants
of a former structure, and to flowers such as
young girls delight to nurse in their gardens,
but which had now relapsed into the wild sim-
plicity of nature.

" Not here ! " cried old Walter Gascoigne.
" Here, long ago, other mortals built their
Temple of Happiness. Seek another site for
yours ! "

" What ! " exclaimed Lilias Fay. " Have any
ever planned such a Temple save ourselves ? "

" Poor child ! " said her gloomy kinsman. " In
one shape or other, every mortal has dreamed
your dream."

Then he told the lovers how, not, indeed, an

antique Temple, but a dwelling, had once stood

there, and that a dark-clad guest had dwelt

among its inmates, sitting forever at the fire-

291

TWICE-TOLD TALES

side, and poisoning all. their household mirth.
Under this type, Adam Forrester and Lilias saw
that the old man spake of Sorrow. He told of
nothing that might not be recorded in the his-
tory of almost every household ; and yet his
hearers felt as if no sunshine ought to fall upon a
spot where human grief had left so deep a stain ;
or, at least, that no joyous Temple should be
built there.

" This is very sad," said the Lily, sighing.

" Well, there are lovelier spots than this," said
Adam Forrester soothingly, — " spots which
sorrow has not blighted."

So they hastened away, and the melancholy
Gascoigne followed them, looking as if he had
gathered up all the gloom of the deserted spot,
and was bearing it as a burden of inestimable
treasure. But still they rambled on, and soon
found themselves in a rocky dell, through the
midst of which ran a streamlet with ripple and
foam, and a continual voice of inarticulate joy.
It was a wild retreat, walled on either side with
gray precipices, which would have frowned some-
what too sternly, had not a profusion of green
shrubbery rooted itself into their crevices, and
wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn
brows. But the chief joy of the dell was in the
little stream, which seemed like the presence of
a blissful child, with nothing earthly to do save
to babble merrily and disport itself, and make
292

THE LILY'S QUEST

every living soul its playfellow, and throw the
sunny gleams of its spirit upon all.

" Here, here is the spot ! " cried the two
lovers with one voice, as they reached a level
space on the brink of a small cascade. " This
glen was made on purpose for our Temple ! "

" And the glad song of the brook will be
always in our ears," said Lilias Fay.

" And its. long melody shall sing the bliss of
our lifetime," said Adam Forrester.

" Ye must build no Temple here ! " mur-
mured their dismal companion.

And there again was the old lunatic, standing
just on the spot where they meant to rear their
lightsome dome, and looking like the embodied
symbol of some great woe, that, in forgotten
days, had happened there. And alas ! there
had been woe, nor that alone. A young man,
more than a hundred years before, had lured
hither a girl that loved him, and on this spot
had murdered her, and washed his bloody hands
in the stream which sung so merrily. And ever
since the victim's death, shrieks were often heard
to echo between the cliffs.

" And see ! " cried old Gascoigne, " is the
stream yet pure from the stain of the mur-
derer's hands ? "

" Methinks it has a tinge of blood," faintly
answered the Lily ; and being as slight as the
gossamer, she trembled and clung to her lover's
293

TWICE-TOLD TALES

$-

arm, whispering, " Let us flee from this dread-
ful vale ! "

" Come, then," said Adam Forrester as
cheerily as he could, " we shall soon find a hap-
pier spot."

They set forth again, young Pilgrims on that
quest which millions — which every child of
Earth — has tried in turn. And were the Lily
and her lover to be more fortunate than all
those millions ? For a long time it seemed not
so. The dismal shape of the old lunatic still
glided behind them ; and for every spot that
looked lovely in their eyes, he had some legend
of human wrong or suffering, so miserably sad
that his auditors could never afterwards connect
the idea of joy with the place where it had hap-
pened. Here, a heart-broken woman, kneeling
to her child, had been spurned from his feet ;
here, a desolate old creature had prayed to the
evil one, and had received a fiendish malignity
of soul in answer to her prayer ; here, a new-
born infant, sweet blossom of life, had been
found dead, with the impress of its mother's
fingers round its throat ; and here, under a
shattered oak, two lovers had been stricken by
lightning, and fell blackened corpses in each
other's arms. The dreary Gascoigne had a
gift to know Avhatever evil and lamentable thing
had stained the bosom of Mother Earth ; and
when his funereal voice had told the tale, it
294

THE LILY'S QUEST

appeared like a prophecy of future woe as well
as a tradition of the past. And now, by their
sad demeanor, you would have fancied that the
pilgrim lovers were seeking, not a temple of
earthly joy, but a tomb for themselves and their
posterity.

" Where in this world," exclaimed Adam
Forrester, despondingly, " shall we build our
Temple of Happiness ? "

" Where in this world, indeed ! " repeated
Lilias Fay ; and being faint and weary, the
more so by the heaviness of her heart, the Lily
drooped her head and sat down on the summit
of a knoll, repeating, " Where in this world
shall we build our Temple ? "

" Ah ! have you already asked yourselves that
question ? " said their companion, his shaded
features growing even gloomier with the smile
that dwelt on them ; " yet there is a place, even
in this world, where ye may build it."

While the old man spoke, Adam Forrester
and Lilias had carelessly thrown their eyes
around, and perceived that the spot where they
had chanced to pause possessed a quiet charm,
which was well enough adapted to their present
mood of mind. It was a small rise of ground,
with a certain regularity of shape, that had per-
haps been bestowed by art ; and a group of
trees, which almost surrounded it, threw their
pensive shadows across and far beyond, although
295

TWICE-TOLD TALES

some softened glory of the sunshine found its
way there. The ancestral mansion, wherein
the lovers would dwell together, appeared on
one side, and the ivied church, where they
were to worship, on another. Happening to
cast their eyes on the ground, they smiled, yet
with a sense of wonder, to see that a pale lily
was growing at their feet.

" We will build our Temple here," said
they simultaneously, and with an indescribable
conviction that they had at last found the very
spot.

Yet, while they uttered this exclamation, the
young man and the Lily turned an apprehensive
glance at their dreary associate, deeming it
hardly possible that some tale of earthly afflic-
tion should not make those precincts loathsome,
as in every former case. The old man stood
just behind them, so as to form the chief figure
in the group, with his sable cloak muffling the
lower part of his visage, and his sombre hat
overshadowing his brows. But he gave no
word of dissent from their purpose ; and an in-
scrutable smile was accepted by the lovers as a
token that here had been no footprint of guilt
or sorrow to desecrate the site of their Temple
of Happiness.

In a little time longer, while summer was
still in its prime, the fairy structure of the Tem-
ple arose on the summit of the knoll, amid the
296

THE LILY'S QUEST

solemn shadows of the trees, yet often glad-
dened with bright sunshine. It was built of
white marble, with slender and graceful pillars
supporting a vaulted dome ; and beneath the
centre of this dome, upon a pedestal, was a slab
of dark-veined marble, on which books and
music might be strewn. But there was a fan-
tasy among the people of the neighborhood
that the edifice was planned after an ancient
mausoleum and was intended for a tomb, and
that the central slab of dark-veined marble wa§
to be inscribed with the names of buried ones.
They doubted, too, whether the form of Lilias
Fay could appertain to a creature of this earth,
being so very delicate, and growing every day
more fragile, so that she looked as if the sum-
mer breeze should snatch her up and waft her
heavenward. But still she watched the daily
growth of the Temple ; and so did old Walter
Gascoigne, who now made that spot his contin-
ual haunt, leaning whole hours together on his
staff, and giving as deep attention to the work
as though it had been indeed a tomb. In due
time it was finished, and a day appointed for a
simple rite of dedication.'

On the preceding evening, after Adam For-
rester had taken leave of his mistress, he looked
back towards the portal of her dwelling, and
felt a strange thrill of fear ; for he imagined
that, as the setting sunbeams faded from her
297

TWICE-TOLD TALES

figure, she was exhaling away, and that some-
thing of her ethereal substance was withdrawn
with each lessening gleam of light. With his
farewell glance a shadow had fallen over the
portal, and Lilias was invisible. His foreboding
spirit deemed it an omen at the time, and so it
proved ; for the sweet earthly form, by which
the Lily had been manifested to the world, was
found lifeless the next morning in the Temple,
with her head resting on her arms, which were
folded upon the slab of dark-veined marble.
The chill winds of the earth had long since
breathed a blight into this beautiful flower, so
that a loving hand had now transplanted it, to
blossom brightly in the garden of Paradise.

But alas, for the Temple of Happiness ! In
his unutterable grief, Adam Forrester had no
purpose more at heart than to convert this
Temple of many delightful hopes into a tomb,
and bury his dead mistress there. And lo ! a
wonder ! Digging a grave beneath the Tem-
ple's marble floor, the sexton found no virgin
earth, such as was meet to receive the maiden's
dust, but an ancient sepulchre, in which were
treasured up the bones of generations that had
died long ago. Among those forgotten ances-
tors was the Lily to be laid. And when the
funeral procession brought Lilias thither to her
coffin, they beheld old Walter Gascoigne stand-
ing beneath the dome of the Temple, with his
298

I

THE LILY'S QUEST

cloak of pall and face of darkest gloom ; and
wherever that figure might take its stand, the
spot would seem a sepulchre. He watched the
mourners as they lowered the coffin down.

" And so," said he to Adam Forrester, with
the strange smile in which his insanity was wont
to gleam forth, " you have found no better
foundation for your happiness than on a grave ! "

But as the Shadow of Affliction spoke, a vi-
sion of Hope and Joy had its birth in Adam's
mind, even from the old man's taunting words ;
for then he knew what was betokened by the
parable in which the Lily and himself had acted ;
and the mystery of Life and Death was opened
to him.

" Joy ! joy ! " he cried, throwing his arms
towards heaven, " on a grave be the site of our
Temple ; and now our happiness is for Eter-
nity 1 ".

With those words, a ray of sunshine broke
through the dismal sky, and glimmered down
into the sepulchre ; while, at the same moment,
the shape of old Walter Gascoigne stalked
drearily away, because his gloom, symbolic of
all earthly sorrow, might no longer abide there,
now that the darkest riddle of humanity was
read.

299

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-
SHORE

[Several passages in this bit of description may be traced to
entries in the American Note-Books. See especially pages 4,

.18.]

IT must be a spirit much unlike my own
which can keep itself in health and vigor
without sometimes stealing from the sultry
sunshine of the world, to plunge into the cool
bath of solitude. At intervals, and not unfre-
quent ones, the forest and the ocean summon
me — one with the roar of its waves, the other
with the murmur of its boughs — forth from
the haunts of men. But I must wander many
a mile ere I could stand beneath the shadow of
even one primeval tree, much less be lost among
the multitude of hoary trunks, and hidden from
earth and sky by the mystery of darksome foli-
age. Nothing is within my daily reach more
like a forest than the acre or two of woodland
near some suburban farmhouse. When, there-
fore, the yearning for seclusion becomes a neces-
sity within me, I am drawn to the sea-shore,
which extends its line of rude rocks and seldom
trodden sands for leagues around our bay. Set-
• 300

FOOTPRINTS ON TAe SEA-SHORE

ting forth at my last ramble on a September
morning, I bound myself with a hermit's vow
to interchange no thoughts with man or woman,
to share no social pleasure, but to derive all that
day's enjoyment from shore and sea and sky,
— from my soul's communion with these, and
from fantasies and recollections, or anticipated
realities. Surely here is enough to feed a hu-
man spirit for a single day. Farewell, then,
busy world ! Till your evening lights shall
shine along the street, — till they gleam upon
my sea-flushed face as I tread homeward, —
free me from your ties, and let me be a peace-
ful outlaw.

Highways and cross-paths are hastily trav-
ersed ; and, clambering down a crag, I find my-
self at the extremity of a long beach. How
gladly does the spirit leap forth and suddenly
enlarge its sense of being to the full extent of
the broad, blue, sunny deep ! A greeting and
a homage to the Sea ! I descend over its mar-
gin and dip my hand into the wave that meets
me, and bathe my brow. That far-resounding
roar is Ocean's voice of welcome. His salt
breath brings a blessing along with it. Now let
us pace together — the reader's fancy arm-in-
arm with mine — this noble beach, which ex-
tends a mile or more from that craggy promon-
tory to yonder rampart of broken rocks. In
front, the sea ; in the rear, a precipitous bank,
301

TWICE-TOLD TALES

the grassy verge of which is breaking away,
year after year, and flings down its tufts of ver-
dure upon the barrenness below. The beach
itself is a broad space of sand, brown and spar-
kling, with hardly any pebbles intermixed. Near
the water's edge there is a wet margin, which
glistens brightly in the sunshine, and reflects
objects like a mirror; and as we tread along the
glistening border, a dry spot flashes around each
footstep, but grows moist again as we lift our
feet. In some spots the sand receives a com-
plete impression of the sole — square toe and
all ; elsewhere it is of such marble firmness that
we must stamp heavily to leave a print even of
the iron-shod heel. Along the whole of this
extensive beach gambols the surf wave ; now it
makes a feint of dashing onward in a fury, yet
dies away with a meek murmur, and does but
kiss the strand ; now, after many such abortive
efforts, it rears itself up in an unbroken line,
heightening as it advances, without a speck of
foam on its green crest. With how fierce a roar
it flings itself forward, and rushes far up the
beach !

As I threw my eyes along the edge of the
surf I remember that I was startled, as Robin-
son Crusoe might have been, by the sense that
human life was within the magic circle of my
solitude. Afar off in the remote distance of the
beach, appearing like sea-nymphs or some airier
302

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

things such as might tread upon the feathery
spray, was a group of girls. Hardly had I be-
held them when they passed into the shadow of
the rocks and vanished. To comfort myself —
for truly I would fain have gazed awhile longer
— I made acquaintance with a flock of beach
birds. These little citizens of the sea and air
preceded me by about a stone's throw along the
strand, seeking, I suppose, for food upon its
margin. Yet, with a philosophy which man-
kind would do well to imitate, they drew a con-
tinual pleasure from their toil for a subsistence.
The sea was each little bird's great playmate.
They chased it downward as it swept back, and
again ran up swiftly before the impending wave,
which sometimes overtook them and bore them
off their feet. But they floated as lightly as
one of their own feathers on the breaking crest.
In their airy flutterings they seemed to rest on
the evanescent spray. Their images — long-
legged little figures, with gray backs and snowy
bosoms — were seen as distinctly as the realities
in the mirror of the glistening strand. As I
advanced, they flew a score or two of yards, and,
again alighting, recommenced their dalliance
with the surf wave ; and thus they bore me
company along the beach, the types of pleasant
fantasies, till, at its extremity, they took wing
over the ocean and were gone. After forming
a friendship with these small surf spirits, it is
303

TWICE-TOLD TALES

really worth a sigh to find no memorial of them
save their multitudinous little tracks in the sand.
When we have paced the length of the beach,
it is pleasant and not unprofitable to retrace
our steps, and recall the whole mood and occu-
pation of the mind during the former passage.
Our tracks being all discernible will guide us
with an observing consciousness through every
unconscious wandering of thought and fancy.
Here, we followed the surf in its reflux to pick
up a shell which the sea seemed loath to relin-
quish. Here, we found a seaweed, with an im-
mense brown leaf, and trailed it behind us by
its long snake-like stalk. Here, we seized a live
horseshoe by the tail, and counted the many
claws of the queer monster. Here, we dug into
the sand for pebbles, and skipped them upon
the surface of the water. Here, we wet our feet
while examining a jelly-fish which the waves,
having just tossed it up, now sought to snatch
away again. Here, we trod along the brink of
a fresh-water brooklet which flows across the
beach, becoming* shallower and more shallow,
till at last it sinks into the sand and perishes in
the eflFort to bear its little tribute to the main. *
Here, some vagary appears to have bewildered
us ; for our tracks go round and round and are
confusedly intermingled, as if we had found a
labyrinth upon the level beach. And here,
amid our idle pastime, we sat down upon almost
304

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

the only stone that breaks the surface of the
sand, and were lost in an unlooked-for and
overpowering conception of the majesty and
awfulness of the great deep. Thus, by tracking
our footprints in the sand, we track our own
nature in its wayward course, and steal a glance
upon it, when it never dreams of being so
observed. Such glances always make us wiser.
This extensive beach affords room for an-
other pleasant pastime. With your staff you
may write verses — love verses, if they please
you best — and consecrate them with a woman's
name. Here, too, may be inscribed thoughts,
feelings, desires, warm outgushings from the
heart's secret places, which you would not pour
upon the sand without the certainty that, almost
ere the sky has looked upon them, the sea will
wash them out. Stir not hence till the record
be effaced. Now — for there is room enough
on your canvas — draw huge faces — huge as
that of the Sphinx on Egyptian sands -*- and
fit them with bodies of corresponding immen-
sity, and legs which might stride halfway to
yonder island. Child's play becomes magnifi-
cent on so grand a scale. But, after all, the
most fascinating employment is simply to write
your name in the sand. Draw the letters gigan-
tic, so that two strides may barely measure
them, and three for the long strokes ! Cut deep
that the record may be permanent ! Statesmen
305

TWICE-TOLD TALES

and warriors and poets have spent their strength
in no better cause than this. Is it accomplished?
Return, then, in an hour or two and seek for
this mighty record of a name. The sea will
have swept over it, even as time rolls its effac-
ing waves over the names of statesmen and war-
riors and poets. Hark, the surf wave laughs at
you !

Passing from the beach, I begin to clamber
over the crags, making my difficult way among
the ruins of a rampart shattered and broken by
the assaults of a fierce enemy. The rocks rise
in every variety of attitude : some of them have
their feet in the foam, and are shagged halfway
upward with seaweed ; some have been hol-
lowed almost into caverns by the unwearied toil
of the sea, which can afford to spend centuries
in wearing away a rock, or even polishing a
pebble. One huge rock ascends in monumental
shape, with a face like a giant*s tombstone, on
which the veins resemble inscriptions, but in an
unknown tongue. We will fancy them the
forgotten characters of an antediluvian race ; or
else that Nature's own hand has here recorded
a mystery, which, could I read her language,
would make mankind the wiser and the hap-
pier. How many a thing has troubled me with
that same idea ! Pass on and leave it unex-
plained. Here is a narrow avenue, which might
seem to have been hewn through the very heart
306

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

of an enormous crag, affording passage for the
rising sea to thunder back and forth, filling it
with tumultuous foam, and then leaving its
floor of black pebbles bare and glistening. In
this chasm there was once an interesting vein
of softer stone, which the waves have gnawed
away piecemeal, while the granite walls remain
entire on either side. How sharply, and with
what harsh clamor, does the sea rake back the
pebbles, as it momentarily withdraws into its
own depths ! At intervals, the floor of the
chasm is left nearly dry ; but anon, at the out-
let, two or three great waves are seen struggling
to get in at once; -two hit tl'e walls athwart,
while one rushes straight through, and all three
thunder as if with rage and triumph. They
heap the chasm with a snowdrift of foam and
spray. While watching this scene, I can never
rid myself of the idea that a monster, endowed
with life and fierce energy, is striving 'to burst
his way through the narrow pass. And what a
contrast, to look through the stormy chasm,
and catch a glimpse of the calm, bright sea be-
yond !

Many interesting discoveries may be made
among these broken cliffs. Once, for example,
I found a dead seal, which a recent tempest had
tossed into the nook of the rocks, where his
shaggy carcass lay rolled in a heap of eel-grass,
as if the sea-monster sought to hide himself from
307

TWICE-TOLD TALES

my eye. Another time, a shark seemed on the
point of leaping from the surf to swallow me ;
nor did I, wholly without dread, approach near
enough to ascertain that the man-eater had al-
ready met his own death from some fisherman
in the bay. In the same ramble I encountered a
bird, — a large gray bird, — but whether a loon,
or a wild goose, or the identical albatross of the
Ancient Mariner, was beyond my ornithology
to decide. It reposed so naturally on a bed of
dry seaweed, with its head beside its wing, that
I almost fancied it alive, and trod softly lest it
should suddenly spread its wings skyward. But
the sea-bird would soar among the clouds no
more, nor ride upon its native waves, so I drew
near and pulled out one of its mottled tail-feath-
ers for a remembrance. Another day, I dis-
covered an immense bone wedged into a chasm
of the rocks ; it was at least ten feet long,
curved like a cimeter, bejewelled with barnacles
and small shell-fish, and partly covered with a
growth of seaweed. Some leviathan of former
ages had used this ponderous mass as a jaw-
bone. Curiosities of a minuter order may be
observed in a deep reservoir, which is replen-
ished with water at every tide, but becomes a
lake among the crags, save when the sea is at
its height. At the bottom of this rocky basin
grow marine plants, some of which tower high
beneath the water and cast a shadow in the sun-
308

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

shine. Small fishes dart to and fro, and hide
themselves among the seaweed ; there is also a
solitary crab, who appears to lead the life of a
hermit, communing with none of the other
denizens of the place ; and likewise several five-
fingers — for I know no other name than that
which children give them. If your imagination
be at all accustomed to such freaks, you may
look down into the depths of this pool, and
fancy it the mysterious depth of ocean. But
where are the hulks and scattered timbers of
sunken ships ? — where the treasures that old
Ocean hoards ? — where the corroded cannon ?
— where the corpses and skeletons of seamen
who went down in storm and battle ?

On the day of my last ramble (it was a
September day, yet as warm as summer), what
should I behold, as I approached the above
described basin, but three girls sitting on its
margin, and — yes, it is veritably so — laving
their snowy feet in the sunny water ! These,
these are the warm realities of those three vision-
ary shapes that flitted from me on the beach.
Hark ! their merry voices as they toss up the
water with their feet ! They have not seen me.
I must shrink behind this rock and steal away
again.

In honest truth, vowed to solitude as I am,
there is something in this encounter that makes
the heart flutter with a strangely pleasant sen-
309 .

TWICE-TOLD TALES

sation. I know these girls to be realities of
flesh and blood, yet, glancing at them so briefly,
they mingle like kindred creatures with the ideal
beings of my mind. It is pleasant, likewise, to
gaze down from some high crag, and watch a
group of children, gathering pebbles and pearly
shells, and playing with the surf, as with old
Ocean's hoary beard. Nor does it infringe
upon my seclusion to see yonder boat at an-
chor off^ the shore, swinging dreamily to and fro,
and rising and sinking with the alternate swell ;
while the crew — four gentlemen, in round-
about jackets — are busy with their fishing-lines.
But, with an inward antipathy and a headlong
flight, do I eschew the presence of any medita-
tive stroller like myself, known by his pilgrim
stafi^, his sauntering step, his shy demeanor, his
observant yet abstracted eye. From such a man,
as if another self had scared me, I scramble
hastily over the rocks, and take refuge, in a
nook which many a secret hour has given me a
right to call my own. I would do battle for it
even with the churl that should produce the
title-deeds. Have not my musings melted into
its rocky walls and sandy floor, and made them
a portion of myself?

It is a recess in the line of cliffs, walled round
by a rough, high precipice, which almost encir-
cles and shuts in a little space of sand. In front,
the sea appears as between the pillars of a por-
310

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

tal. In the rear, the precipice is broken and in-
termixed with earth, which gives nourishment
not only to clinging and twining shrubs, but to
trees, that gripe the rock with their naked roots,
and seem to struggle hard for footing and for
soil enough to live upon. These are fir-trees ;
but oaks hang their heavy branches from above,
and throw down acorns on the beach, and shed
their withering foliage upon the waves. At this
autumnal season the precipice is decked with
variegated splendor : trailing wreaths of scarlet
flaunt from the summit downward ; tufts of
yellow-flowering shrubs, and rosebushes, with
their reddened leaves and glossy seed berries,
sprout from each crevice ; at every glance, I
detect some new light or shade of beauty, all
contrasting with the stern, gray rock. A rill of
water trickles down the cliff and fills a little cis-
tern near the base. I drain it at a draught, and
find it fresh and pure. This recess shall be my
dining-hall. And what the feast ? A few bis-
cuits made savory by soaking them in sea-
water, a tuft of samphire gathered from the
beach, and an apple for the dessert. By this
time the little rill has filled its reservoir again ;
and, as I quaff it, I thank God more heartily
than for a civic banquet, that He gives me the
healthful appetite to make a feast of bread and
water.

Dinner being over, I throw myself at length
3"

TWICE-TOLD TALES

upon the sand, and, basking in the sunshine, let
my mind disport itself at will. The walls of
this my hermitage have no tongue to tell my
follies, though I sometimes fancy that they have
ears to hear them, and a soul to sympathize.
There is a magic in this spot. Dreams haunt
its precincts and flit around me in broad sun-
light, nor require that sleep shall blindfold me
to real objects ere these be visible. Here can
I frame a story of two lovers, and make their
shadows live before me and be mirrored in the
tranquil water, as they tread along the sand,
leaving no footprints. Here, should I will it, I
can summon up a single shade, and be myself
her lover. Yes, dreamer, — but your lonely
heart will be the colder for such fancies. Some-
times, too, the Past comes back and finds me
here, and in her train come faces which were
gladsome when I knew them, yet seem not glad-
some now.. Would that my hiding-place were
lonelier, so that the Past might not find me !
Get ye all gone, old friends, and let me listen
to the murmur of the sea, — a melancholy voice,
but less sad than yours. Of what mysteries is
it telling? Of sunken ships and whereabouts
they lie ? Of islands afar and undiscovered,
whose tawny children are unconscious of other
islands and of continents, and deem the stars of
heaven their nearest neighbors ? Nothing of all
this. What then ? Has it talked for so many
312

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

ages and meant nothing all the while ? No ;
for those ages find utterance in the sea*s un-
changing voice,' and warn the listener to with-
draw his interest from mortal vicissitudes, and
let the infinite idea of eternity pervade his
soul. This is wisdom ; and, therefore, will I
spend the next half hour in shaping little boats
of driftwood, and launching them on voyages
across the cove, with a feather of a sea-gull for
a sail. If the voice of ages tell me true, this is
as wise an occupation as to build ships of five
hundred tons, and launch them forth upon the
main, bound to " far Cathay." Yet, how would
the merchant sneer at me !

And, after all, can such philosophy be true ?
Methinks I could find a thousand arguments
against it. Well, then, let yonder shaggy rock,
mid-deep in the surf — see! he is somewhat
wrathful, — he rages and roars and foams — let
that tall rock be my antagonist, and let me
exercise my oratory like him of Athens, who
bandied words with an angry sea and got the
victory. My maiden speech is a triumphant
one ; for the gentleman in seaweed has nothing
to offer in reply, save an immitigable roaring.
His voice, indeed, will be heard a long while
after mine is hushed. Once more I shout, and
the cliffs reverberate the sound. O, what joy
for a shy man to feel himself so solitary, that
he may lift his voice to its highest pitch with-
313

TWICE-TOLD TALES

out hazard of a listener ! But, hush ! — be
silent, my good friend ! — whence comes that
stifled laughter? It was musical, — but how
should there be such music in my solitude ?
Looking upwards, I catch a glimpse of three
faces, peeping from the summit of the cliif, like
angels between me and their native sky. Ah,
fair girls, you may make yourselves merry at
my eloquence, — but it was my turn to smile
when I saw your white feet iji the pool I Let
us keep each other's secrets.

The sunshine has now passed from my her-
mitage, except a gleam upon the sand just where
it meets the sea. A crowd of gloomy fantasies
will come and haunt me, if I tarry longer here
in the darkening twilight of these gray rocks.
This is a dismal place in some moods of the
mind. Climb we, therefore, the precipice, and
pause a moment on the brink, gazing down into
that hollow chamber by the deep where we have
been, what few can be, sufficient to our own
pastime — yes, say the word outright ! — self-
sufficient to our own happiness. How lone-
some looks the recess now, and dreary too —
like all other spots where happiness has been !
There *lies my shadow in the departing sunshine
with its head upon the sea. I will pelt it with
pebbles. A hit ! a hit ! I clap my hands in
triumph, and see ! my shadow clapping its un-
real hands, and claiming the triumph for itself.
3H

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

What a simpleton must I have been all day,
since my own shadow makes a mock of my
fooleries !

Homeward ! homeward ! It is time to hasten
home. It is time ; it is time ; for as the sun
sinks over the western wave, the sea grows mel-
ancholy, and the surf has a saddened tone. The
distant sails appear astray, and not of earth, in
their remoteness amid the desolate waste. My
spirit wanders forth afar, but finds no resting-
place and comes shivering back. It is time
that I were hence. But grudge me not the day
that has been spent in seclusion, which yet was
not solitude, since the great sea has been my
companion, and the little sea-birds my friends,
and the wind has told me his secrets, and airy
shapes have flitted around me in my hermitage.
Such companionship works an effect upon a
man's character, as if he had been admitted to
the society of creatures that are not mortal.
And when, at noontide, I tread the crowded
streets, the influence of this day will still be felt ;
so that I shall walk among men kindly and as
a brother, with affection and sympathy, but yet
shall not melt into the indistinguishable mass
of human-kind. I shall think my own thoughts,
and feel my own emotions, and possess my
individuality unviolated.

But it is good, at the eve of such a day, to
feel and know that there are men and women

TWICE-TOLD TALES

in the world. That feeling and that knowledge
are mine at this moment ; for, on the shore far
below me, the fishing party have landed from
their skiff, and are cooking their scaly prey by
a fire of driftwood, kindled in the angle of two
rude rocks. The three visionary girls are like-
wise there. In the deepening twilight, while
the surf is dashed near their hearth, the ruddy
gleam of the fire throws a strange air of comfort
over the wild cove, bestrewn as it is with peb-
bles and seaweed, and exposed to the " melan-
choly main." Moreover, as the smoke climbs
up the precipice, it brings with it a savory smell
from a pan of fried fish and a black kettle of
chowder, and reminds me that my dinner was
nothing but bread and water, and a tuft of sam-
phire and an apple. Methinks the party might
find room for another guest at that flat rock
which serves them for a table ; and if spoons
be scarce, I could pick up a clamshell on the
beach. They see me now ; and — the blessing
of a hungry man upon him ! — one of them
sends up a hospitable shout — Halloo, Sir Soli-
tary ! come down and sup with us ! The ladies
wave their handkerchiefs. Can I decline ? No ;
and be it owned, after all my solitary joys, that
this is the sweetest moment of a Day by the
Sea-Shore.

316

EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD

THERE is hardly a more difficult exer-
cise of fancy than, while gazing at a
figure of melancholy age, to recreate
its youth, and, without entirely obliterating the
identity of form and features, to restore those
graces which time has snatched away. Some old
people, especially women, so age-worn and woe-
ful are they, seem never to have been young and
gay. It is easier to conceive that such gloomy
phantoms were sent into the world as withered
and decrepit as we behold them now, with sym-
pathies only for pain and grief, to watch at
death-beds and weep at funerals. Even the
sable garments of their widowhood appear es-
sential to their existence; all their attributes com-
bine to render them darksome shadows, creeping
strangely amid the sunshine of human life. Yet
it is no unprofitable task to take one of these
doleful creatures, and set fancy resolutely at
work to brighten the dim eye, and darken the
silvery locks, and paint the ashen cheek with
rose color, and repair the shrunken and crazy
form, till a dewy maiden shall be seen in the
old matron's elbow-chair. The miracle being
317

TWICE-TOLD TALES

wrought, then let the years roll back again, each
sadder than the last, and the whole weight of
age and sorrow settle down upon the youthful
figure. Wrinkles and furrows, the handwriting
of Time, may thus be deciphered, and found
to contain deep lessons of thought and feel-
ing. Such profit might be derived by a skilful
observer from my much-respected friend, the
Widow Toothaker, a nurse of great repute, who
has breathed the atmosphere of sick-chambers
and dying breaths these forty years.

See ! she sits cowering over her lonesome
hearth, with her gown and upper petticoat drawn
upward, gathering thriftily into her person the
whole warmth of the fire, which, now at night-
fall, begins to dissipate the autumnal chill of
her chamber. The blaze quivers capriciously
in front, alternately glimmering into the deepest
chasms of her wrinkled visage, and then per-
mitting a ghostly dimness to mar the outlines
of her venerable figure. And Nurse Toothaker
holds a teaspoon in her right hand, with which
to stir up the contents of a tumbler in her left,
whence steams a vapory fragrance, abhorred
of temperance societies. Now she sips — now
stirs — now sips again. Her sad old heart has
need to be revived by the rich infusion of Ge-
neva, which is mixed half and half with hot
water in the tumbler. All day long she has
been sitting by a death-pillow, and quitted it
3'8

I

EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD

for her home only when the spirit of her patient
left the clay and went homeward too. But now
are her melancholy meditations cheered, and
her torpid blood warmed, and her shoulders
lightened of at least twenty ponderous years,
by a draught from the true Fountain of Youth,
in a case bottle. It is strange that men should
deem that fount a fable, when its liquor fills
more botdes than the congress water ! Sip it
again, good nurse, and see whether a second
draught will not take off another score of years,
and perhaps ten more, and show us, in your
high-backed chair, the blooming damsel who
plighted troths with Edward Fane. Get you
gone. Age and Widowhood ! Come back, un-
wedded Youth ! But, aks ! the charm will not
work. In spite of fancy's most potent spell,
I can see only an old dame cowering over the
fire, a picture of decay and desolation, while the
November blast roars at her in the chimney,
and fitful showers rush suddenly against the
window.

Yet there was a time when Rose Grafton —
such was the pretty maiden name of Nurse
Toothaker — possessed beauty that would have
gladdened this dim and dismal chamber as with
sunshine.. It won for her the heart of Edward
Fane, who has since made so great a figure in
the world, and is now a grand old gentleman,
with powdered hair, and as gouty as a lord.
319

TWICE-TOLD TALES

These early lovers thought to have walked
hand in hand through life. They had wept
together for Edward's little sister Mary, whom
Rose tended in her sickness, partly because she
was the sweetest child that ever lived or died,
but more for love of him. She was but three
years old. Being such an infant. Death could
not embody his terrors in her little corpse ; nor
did Rose fear to touch the dead child's brow,
though chill, as she curled the silken hair around
it, nor to take her tiny hand and clasp a flower
within its fingers. Afterward, when she looked
through the pane of glass in the coffin lid, and
beheld Mary's face, it seemed not so much like
death, or life, as like a wax-work, wrought into
the perfect image of a child asleep, and dream-
ing of its mother's smile. Rose thought her
too fair a thing to be hidden in the grave, and
wondered that an angel did not snatch up little
Mary's coffin, and bear the slumbering babe to
heaven, and bid her wake immortal. But when
the sods were laid on little Mary, the heart of
Rose was troubled. She shuddered at the fan-
tasy, that, in grasping the child's cold fingers,
her virgin hand had exchanged a first greeting
with mortality, and could never lose the earthly
taint. How many a greeting since ! But as
yet, she was a fair young girl, with the dew-
drops of fresh feeling in her l)osom ; and in-
stead of Rose, which seemed too mature a name
320

EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD

for her half-opened beauty, her lover called her
Rosebud.

The rosebud was destined never to bloom
for Edward Fane. His mother was a rich and
haughty dame, with all the aristocratic prejudices
of colonial times. She scorned Rose Grafton's
humble parentage, and caused her son to break
his faith, though, had she let him choose, he
would have prized his Rosebud above the rich-
est diamond. The lovers parted, and have sel-
dom met again. Both may have visited the
same mansions, but not at the same time ; for
one was bidden to the festal hall, and the other
to the sick-chamber ; he was the guest of Plea-
sure and Prosperity, and she of Anguish. Rose,
after their separation, was long secluded within
the dwelling of Mr. Toothaker, whom she
married with the revengeful hope of breaking
her false lover's heart. She went to her bride-
groom's arms with bitterer tears, they say, than
young girls ought to shed at the threshold of
the bridal chamber. Yet, though her husband's
head was getting gray, and his heart had been
chilled with an autumnal frost. Rose soon began
to love him, and wondered at her own conjugal
affection. He was all she had to love ; there
were no children.

In a year or two, poor Mr. Toothaker was
visited with a wearisome infirmity, which settled
in his joints, and made him weaker than a child.
321

TWICE-TOLD TALES

He crept forth about his business, and came
home at dinner-time and eventide, not with the
manly tread that gladdens a wife's heart, but
slowly, feebly, jotting down each dull footstep
with a melancholy dub of his staff. We must
pardon his pretty wife, if she sometimes blushed
to own him. Her visitors, when they heard
him coming, looked for the appearance of some
old, old man ; but he dragged his nerveless
limbs into the parlor — and there was Mr.
Toothaker ! The disease increasing, he never
went into the sunshine, save with a staff in his
right hand and his left on his wife's shoulder,
bearing heavily downward, like a dead man's
hand. Thus, a slender woman, still looking
maiden-like, she supported his tall, broad-
chested frame along the pathway of their little
garden, and plucked the roses for her gray-
haired husband, and spoke soothingly, as to an
infant. His mind was palsied with his body ;
its utmost energy was peevishness. In a few
months more, she helped him up the staircase,
with a pause at every step, and a longer one
upon the landing-place, and a heavy glance be-
hind, as he crossed the threshold of his cham-
ber. He knew, poor man, that the precincts
of those four walls would thenceforth be his
world — his world, his home, his tomb — at
once a dwelling and a burial-place, till he were
borne to a darker and a narrower one. But
322

EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD

Rose was with him in the tomb. He leaned
upon her in his daify passage from the bed to
the chair by the fireside, and back again from
the weary chair to the joyless bed — his bed
and hers — their marriage-bed; till even this
short journey ceased, and his head lay all day
upon the pillow, and hers all night beside it.
How long poor Mr. Toothaker was kept in
misery ! Death seemed to draw near the door,
and often to lift the latch, and sometimes to
thrust his ugly skull into the chamber, nodding
to Rose, and pointing at her husband, but still
delayed to enter. " This bedridden wretch
cannot escape me ! " quoth Death. " I will go
forth and run a race with the swift, and fight
a battle with the strong, and come back for
Toothaker at my leisure ! " O, when the de-
liverer came so near, in the dull anguish of her
worn-out sympathies, did she never long to cry,.
" Death, come in ! "

But, no ! We have no right to ascribe such
a wish to our friend Rose. She never failed in
a wife's duty to her poor sick husband. She
murmured not, though a glimpse of the sunny
sky was as strange to her as him, nor answered
peevishly, though his complaining accents roused
her from her sweetest dream, only to share his
wretchedness. He knew her faith, yet nour-
ished a cankered jealousy ; and when the slow
disease had chilled all his heart, save one luke-
323

TWICE-TOLD TALES

warm spot, which Death's frozen fingers were
searching for, his last words were : " What
would my Rose have done for her first love, if
she has been so true and kind to a sick old man
like me ! " And then his poor soul crept away,
and left the body lifeless, though hardly more
so than for years before, and Rose a widow,
though in truth it was the wedding-night that
widowed her. She felt glad, it must be owned,
when Mr. Toothaker was buried, because his
corpse had retained such a likeness to the man
half alive, that she hearkened for the sad mur-
mur of his voice, bidding her shift his pillow.
But all through the next winter, though the
grave had held him many a month, she fancied
him calling from that cold bed, " Rose ! Rose !
come put a blanket on my feet ! "

So now the Rosebud was the Widow Tooth-
aker. Her troubles had come early, and, tedi-
ous as they seemed, had passed before all her
bloom was fled. She was still fair enough to
captivate a bachelor, or, with a widow's cheerful
gravity, she might have won a widower, stealing
into his heart in the very guise of his dead wife.
But the Widow Toothaker had no such pro-
jects. By her watchings and continual cares
her heart had become knit to her first husband
with a constancy which changed its very nature,
and made her love him for his infirmities, and
infirmity for his sake. When the palsied old
324

EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD

man was gone, even her early lover could not
have supplied his place. She had dwelt in a
sick-chamber, and been the companion of a
half-dead wretch, till she could scarcely breathe
in a free air, and felt ill at ease with the healthy
and the happy. She missed the fragrance of
the doctor's stuff. She walked the chamber
with a noiseless footfall. If visitors came in,
she spoke in soft and soothing accents, and was
startled and shocked by their loud voices.
Often, in the lonesome evening, she looked
timorously from the fireside to the bed, with
almost a hope of recognizing a ghastly face
upon the pillow. Then went her thoughts
sadly to her husband's grave. If one impatient
throb had wronged him in his lifetime, — if she
had secretly repined because her buoyant youth
was imprisoned with his torpid age, — if ever,
while slumbering beside him, a treacherous
dream had admitted another into her heart, —
yet the sick man had been preparing a revenge
which the dead now claimed. On his painful
pillow he had cast a spell around her ; his groans
and misery had proved more captivating charms
than gayety and youthful grace ; in his sem-
blance Disease itself had won the Rosebud for
a bride ; nor could his death dissolve the nup-
tials. By that indissoluble bond she had gained
a home in every sick-chamber, and nowhere
else : there were her brethren and sisters ; thither
325

TWICE-TOLD TALES

her husband summoned her with that voice
which had seemed to issue from the grave of
Toothaker. At length she recognized her
destiny.

We have beheld her as the maid, the wife,
the widow ; now we see her in a separate and
insulated character ; she was, in all her attri-
butes. Nurse Toothaker. And Nurse Tooth-
aker alone, with her own shrivelled lips, could
make known her experience in that capacity.
What a history might she record of the great
sicknesses in which she has gone hand in hand
with the exterminating angel ! She remembers
when the small-pox hoisted a red banner on
almost every house along the street. She has
witnessed when the typhus fever swept off a
whole household, young and old, all but a lonely
mother, who vainly shrieked to follow her last
loved one. Where would be Death's triumph,
if none lived to weep ? She can speak of
strange maladies that have broken out, as if
spontaneously, but were found to have been
imported from foreign lands, with rich silks
and other merchandise, the costliest portion of
the cargo. And once, she recollects, the people
died of what was considered a new pestilence,
till the doctors traced it to the ancient grave of
a young girl, who thus caused many deaths a
hundred years after her own burial. Strange,
that such black michief should lurk in a
326

EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD

maiden's grave ! She loves to tell how strong
men fight with fiery fevers, utterly refusing to
give up their breath ; and how consumptive
virgins fade out of the world, scarcely reluctant,
as if their lovers were wooing them to a far
country. Tell us, thou fearful woman ! tell us
the death secrets ! Fain would I search out
the meaning of words, faintly gasped with in-
termingled sobs and broken sentences, half
.audibly spoken between earth and the judgment
seat !

An awful woman ! She is the patron saint
of young physicians, and the bosom friend of
old ones. In the mansions where she enters,
the inmates provide themselves black garments ;
the cofHn-maker follows her ; and the bell tolls
as she comes away from the threshold. Death
himself has met her at so many a bedside, that
he puts forth his bony hand to greet Nurse
Toothaker. She is an awful woman ! And,
O ! is it conceivable, that this handmaid of
human infirmity and affliction — so darkly
stained, so thoroughly imbued with all that is
saddest in the doom of mortals — can ever
again be bright and gladsome, even though
bathed in the sunshine of eternity ? By her
long communion with woe, has she not forfeited
her inheritance of immortal joy ? Does any
germ of bliss survive within her ?

Hark ! — an eager knocking at Nurse
327

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Toothaker's door. She starts from her drowsy
reverie, sets aside the empty tumbler and tea-
spoon, and lights a lamp at the dim embers of
the fire. Rap, rap, rap ! again ; and she hur-
ries adown the staircase, wondering which of
her friends can be at death's door now, since
there is such an earnest messenger at Nurse
Toothaker's. Again the peal resounds, just as
her hand is on the lock. " Be quick. Nurse
Toothaker ! " cries a man on the doorsteps ;
" old General Fane is taken with the gout in
his stomach, and has sent for you to watch by
his death-bed. Make haste, for there is no
time to lose ! " " Fane ! Edward Fane ! And
has he sent for me at last ? I am ready ! I
will get on my cloak and begone. So," adds
the sable-gowned, ashen-visaged, funereal old
figure, " Edward Fane remembers his Rose-
bud ! "

Our question is answered. There is a germ
of bliss within her. Her long-hoarded con-
stancy — her memory of the bliss that was —
remaining amid the gloom of her after life like
a sweet-smelling flower in a coffin, is a symbol
that all may be renewed. In some happier
clime the Rosebud may revive again, with all
the dewdrops in its bosom.
328

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

A FAIRY LEGEND

I HAVE sometimes produced a singular
and not unpleasing effect, so far as my
own mind was concerned, by imagining a
train of incidents in which the spirit and mech-
anism of the fairy legend should be combined
with the characters and manners of familiar life.
In the little tale which follows, a subdued tinge
of the wild and wonderful is thrown over a
sketch of New England personages and scen-
ery, yet, it is hoped, without entirely obliterat-
ing the sober hues of nature. Rather than a
story of events claiming to be real, it may be
considered as an allegory, such as the writers
of the last century would have expressed in the
shape of an Eastern tale, but to which I have
endeavored to give a more life-like warmth than
could be infused into those fanciful productions.
In the twilight of a summer eve, a tall, dark
figure, over which long and remote travel had
thrown an outlandish aspect, was entering a vil-
lage, not in " Fairy Londe," but within our
own familiar boundaries. The staff on which
ythis traveller leaned had been his companion
V 329

TWICE-TOLD TALES

from the spot where it grew, in the jungles of
Hindostan ; the hat that overshadowed his
sombre brow had shielded him from the suns
of Spain : but his cheek had been blackened
by the red-hot wind of an Arabian desert, and
had felt the frozen breath of an Arctic region.
Long sojourning amid wild and dangerous men,
he still wore beneath his vest the ataghan which
he had once struck into the throat of a Turkish
robber. In every foreign clime he had lost
something of his New England characteristics ;
and, perhaps, from every people he had uncon-
sciously borrowed a new peculiarity ; so that
when the worl^d-wanderer again trod the street
of his native village, it is no wonder that he
passed unrecognized, though exciting the gaze
and curiosity of all. Yet, as his arm casually
touched that of a young woman who was wend-
ing her way to an evening lecture, she started,
and almost uttered a cry.

" Ralph Cranfield ! " was the name that she
half articulated.

" Can that be my old playmate. Faith Eger-
ton ? " thought the traveller, looking round at
her figure, but without pausing.

Ralph Cranfield, from his youth upward,
had felt himself marked out for a high destiny.
He had imbibed the idea — we say not whether
it were revealed to him by witchcraft, or in a
dream of prophecy, or that his brooding fancy
330

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

had palmed its own dictates upon him as the
oracles of a Sibyl ! — but he had imbibed the
idea, and held it firmest among his articles of
faith, that three marvellous events of his life
were to be confirmed to him by three signs.

The first of these three fatalities, and perhaps
the one on which his youthful imagination had
dwelt most fondly, was the discovery of the
maid who alone, of all the maids on earth, could
make him happy by her love. He was to roam
around the world till he should meet a beauti-
ful woman wearing on her bosom a jewel in the
shape of a heart ; whether of pearl, or ruby, or
emerald, or carbuncle, or a changeful opal, or
perhaps a priceless diamond, Ralph Cranfield
little cared, so long as it were a heart of one
peculiar shape. On encountering this lovely
stranger, he was bound to address her thus :
" Maiden, I have brought you a heavy heart.
May I rest its weight on you ? " And if she
were his fated bride -7- if their kindred souls
were destined to form a union here below,
which all eternity should only bind more closely
— she would reply, with her finger on the heart-
shaped jewel, — " This token, which I have
worn so long, is the assurance that you may ! **

And, secondly, Ralph Cranfield had a firm
belief that there was a mighty treasure hidden
somewhere in the earth, of which the burial-
place would be revealed to none but him. When
331

TWICE-TOLD TALES

his feet should press upon the mysterious spot,
there would be a hand before him pointing
downward — whether carved of marble, or hewn
in gigantic dimensions on the side of a rocky
precipice, or perchance a hand of flame in empty
air, he could not tell ; but, at least, he would
discern a hand, the forefinger pointing down-
ward, and beneath it the Latin word Effode —
Dig ! and digging thereabouts, the gold in coin
or ingots, the precious stones, or of whatever
else the treasure might consist, would be certain
to reward his toil.

The third and last of the miraculous events
in the life of this high-destined man was to be
the attainment of extensive influence and sway
over his fellow creatures. Whether he were to
be a king and founder of an hereditary throne,
or the victorious leader of a people contending
for their freedom, or the apostle of a purified
and regenerated faith, was left for futurity to
show. As messengers of the sign by which
Ralph Cranfield might recognize the summons,
three venerable men were to claim audience of
him. The chief among them, a dignified and
majestic person, arrayed, it may be supposed,
in the flowing garments of an ancient sage,
would be the bearer of a wand or prophet's rod.
With this wand, or rod, or staff, the venerable
sage would trace a certain figure in the air, and
then proceed to make known his heaven-in-
332

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

structed message ; which, if obeyed, must lead
to glorious results.

With this proud fate before him, in the flush
of his imaginative youth, Ralph Cranfield had
set forth to seek the maid, the treasure, and the
venerable sage with his gift of extended empire.
And had he found them ? Alas ! it was not
with the aspect of a triumphant man, who had
achieved a nobler destiny than all his fellows,
but rather with the gloom of one struggling
against peculiar and continual adversity, that
he now passed homeward to his mother's cot-
tage. He had come back, but only for a time,
to lay aside the pilgrim's staff, trusting that his
weary manhood would regain somewhat of the
elasticity of youth, in the spot where his three-
fold fate had been foreshown him. There had
been few changes in the village ; for it was
not one of those thriving places where a year's
prosperity makes more than the havoc of a
century's decay ; but like a gray hair in a young
man's head, an antiquated little town, full of old
maids, and aged elms, and moss-grown dwell-
ings. Few seemed to be the changes here.
The drooping elms, indeed, had a more majes-
tic spread ; the weather-blackened houses were
adorned with a denser thatch of verdant moss ;
and doubtless there were a few more gravestones
in the burial ground, inscribed with names that
had once been familiar in the village street.
333

TWICE-TOLD TALES

Yet, summing up all the mischief that ten years
had wrought, it seemed scarcely more than if
Ralph Cranfield had gone forth that very morn-
ing, and dreamed a day-dream till the twilight,
and then turned back again. But his heart grew
cold because the village did not remember him
as he remembered the village.

" Here is the change ! " sighed he, striking
his hand upon his breast. " Who is this man
of thought and care, weary with world-wander-
ing and heavy with disappointed hopes ? The
youth returns not, who went forth so joyously ! "

And now Ralph Cranfield was at his mother's
gate, in front of the small house where the old
lady, with slender but sufficient means, had kept
herself comfortable during her son's long ab-
sence. Admitting himself within the enclosure,
he leaned against a great, old tree, trifling with
his own impatience, as people often do in those
intervals when years are summed into a mo-
ment. He took a minute survey of the dwell-
ing — its windows brightened with the sky
gleam, its doorway, with the half of a millstone
for a step, and the faintly traced path waving
thence to the gate. He made friends again with
his childhood's friend, the old tree against
which he leaned ; and glancing his eye adown its
trunk, beheld something that excited a melan-
choly smile. It was a half-obliterated inscrip-
tion — the Latin word Effode — which he
334

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

remembered to have carved in the bark of the
tree, with a whole day's toil, when he had first
begun to muse about his exalted destiny. It
might be accounted a rather singular coinci-
dence, that the bark just above the inscription
had put forth an excrescence, shaped not unlike
a hand, with the forefinger pointing obliquely
at the word of fate. Such, at least, was its
appearance in the dusky light.

" Now a credulous man," said Ralph Cran-
field carelessly to himself, " might suppose that
the treasure which I have sought round the
world lies buried, after all, at the very door of
my mother's dwelling. That would be a jest
indeed ! "

More he thought not about the matter ;
for now the door was opened, and an elderly
woman appeared on the threshold, peering into
the dusk to discover who it might be that had
intruded on her premises, and was standing in
the shadow of her tree. It was Ralph Cran-
field's mother. Pass we over their greeting, and
leave the one to her joy and the other to his
rest, — if quiet rest be found.

But when morning broke, he arose with a
troubled brow ; for his sleep and his wakeful-
ness had alike been full of dreams. All the fer-
vor was rekindled with which he had burned of
yore to unravel the threefold mystery of his fate.
The crowd of his early visions seemed to have
335

TWICE-TOLD TALES

awaited him beneath his mother's roof, and
thronged riotously around to welcome his re-
turn. In the well-remembered chamber, on the
pillow where his infancy had slumbered, he had
passed a wilder night than ever in an Arab tent,
or when he had reposed his head in the ghastly
shades of a haunted forest. A shadowy maid
had stolen to his bedside, and laid her finger
on the scintillating heart ; a hand of flame had
glowed amid the darkness, pointing downward
to a mystery within the earth ; a hoary sage had
waved his prophetic wand, and beckoned the
dreamer onward to a chair of state. The same
phantoms, though fainter in the daylight, still
flitted about the cottage, and mingled among
the crowd of familiar faces that were drawn
thither by the news of Ralph Cranfield's return,
to bid him welcome for his mother's sake.
There they found him, a tall, dark, stately man
of foreign aspect, courteous in demeanor and
mild of speech, yet with an abstracted eye,
which seemed often to snatch a glance at the
invisible.

Meantime the widow Cranfield went bus-
tling about the house, full of joy that she again
had somebody to love, and be careful of, and
for whom she might vex and tease herself with
the petty troubles of daily life. It was nearly
noon when she looked forth from the door, and
descried three personages of note coming along
336

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

the street, through the hot sunshine and the
masses of elm-tree shade. At length they
reached her gate and undid the latch.

" See, Ralph ! " exclaimed she, with maternal
pride, " here is Squire Hawkwood and the two
other selectmen, coming on purpose to see you !
Now do tell them a good long story about
what you have seen in foreign parts.'*

The foremost of the three visitors. Squire
Hawkwood, was a very pompous but excellent
old gentleman, the head and prime mover in
all the affairs of the village, and universally
acknowledged to be one of the sagest men on
earth. He wore, according to a fashion even
then becoming antiquated, a three-cornered hat,
and carried a silver-headed cane, the use of
which seemed to be rather for flourishing in the
air than for assisting the progress of his legs.
His two companions were elderly and respect-
able yeomen, who, retaining an ante-revolution-
ary reverence for rank and hereditary wealth,
kept a little in the Squire's rear. As they ap-
proached along the pathway, Ralph Cranfield
sat in an oaken elbow-chair, half unconsciously
gazing at the three visitors, and enveloping
their homely figures in the misty romance that
pervaded his mental world.

" Here," thought he, smiling at the conceit,
" here come three elderly personages, and the
first of the three is a venerable sage with a staflF.
337

TWICE-TOLD TALES

What if this embassy should bring me the mes-
sage of my fate ! "

While Squire Hawkwood and his colleagues
entered, Ralph rose from his seat and advanced
a few steps to receive them ; and his stately figure
and dark countenance, as he bent courteously
towards his guests, had a natural dignity, con-
trasting well with the bustling importance of
the Squire. The old gentleman, according to
invariable custom, gave an elaborate preliminary
flourish with his cane in the air, then removed
his three-cornered hat in order to wipe his brow,
and finally proceeded to make known his errand.

" My colleagues and myself," began the
Squire, " are burdened with momentous duties,
being jointly selectmen of this village. Our
minds, for the space of three days past, have
been laboriously bent on the selection of a
suitable person to fill a most important office,
and take upon himself a charge and rule which,
wisely considered, may be ranked no lower than
those of kings and potentates. And whereas
you, our native townsman, are of good natural
intellect, and well cultivated by foreign travel,
and that certain vagaries and fantasies of your
youth are doubtless long ago corrected ; taking
all these matters, I say, into due consideration,
we are of opinion that Providence hath sent
you hither, at this juncture, for our very pur-
pose."

338

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

During this harangue, Cranfield gazed fixedly
at the speaker, as if he beheld something mys-
terious and unearthly in his pompous little fig-
ure, and as if the Squire had worn the flowing
robes of an ancient sage, instead of a square-
skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, velvet breeches,
and silk stockings. Nor was his wonder without
sufficient cause ; for the flourish of the Squire's
staff, marvellous to relate, had described pre-
cisely the signal in the air which was to ratify
the message of the prophetic Sage whom Cran-
field had sought around the world.

" And what," inquired Ralph Cranfield, with
a tremor in his voice, " what may this office be,
which is to equal me with kings and poten-
tates ? "

" No less than instructor of our village
school," answered Squire Hawkwood ; " the
office being now vacant by the death of the
venerable Master Whitaker after a fifty years'
incumbency."

" I will consider of your proposal," replied
Ralph Cranfield hurriedly, " and will make
known my decision within three days."

After a few more words, the village dignitary
and his companions took their leave. But
to Cranfield's fancy their images were still pre-
sent, and became more and more invested with
the dim awfulness of figures which had first
appeared to him in a dream, and afterwards had
339

TWICE-TOLD TALES

shown themselves in his waking moments, as-
suming homely aspects among familiar things.
His mind dwelt upon the features of the Squire,
till they grew confused with those of the vi-
sionary Sage, and one appeared but the shadow
of the other. The same visage, he now thought,
had looked forth upon him from the Pyramid
of Cheops ; the same form had beckoned to
him among the colonnades of the Alhambra ;
the same figure had mistily revealed itself
through the ascending steam of the Great Gey-
ser. At every effort of his memory he recog-
nized some trait of the dreamy Messenger of
Destiny in this pompous, bustling, self-impor-
tant, little great man of the village. Amid such
musings Ralph Cranfield sat all day in the cot-
tage, scarcely hearing and vaguely answering his
mother's thousand questions about his travels
and adventures. At sunset he roused himself
to take a stroll, and, passing the aged elm-tree,
his eye was again caught by the semblance of
a hand pointing downward at the half-obliter-
ated inscription.

As Cranfield walked down the street of the
village, the level sunbeams threw his shadow
far before him ; and he fancied that as his
shadow walked among distant objects, so had
there been a presentiment stalking in advance
of him throughout his life. And when he drew
near each object, over which his tall shadow
340

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

had preceded him, still it proved to be one
of the familiar recollections of his infancy and
youth. Every crook in the pathway was re-
membered. Even the more transitory charac-
teristics of the scene were the same as in by-
gone days. A company of cows were grazing
on the grassy roadside, and refreshed him with
their fragrant breath. " It is sweeter," thought
he, " than the perfume which was wafted to our
ship from the Spice Islands." The round little
figure of a child rolled from a doorway, and lay
laughing almost beneath Cranfield's feet. The
dark and stately man stooped down and, lifting
the infant, restored him to his mother's arms.
" The children," said he to himself — and
sighed and smiled — " the children are to be
my charge ! " And while a flow of natural feel-
ing gushed like a wellspring in his heart, he
came to a dwelling which he could nowise for-
bear to enter. A sweet voice, which seemed to
come from a deep and tender soul, was warbling
a plaintive little air within.^

1 [When this tale was first printed in a magazine, there was inserted
at this point the following song : —

O, man can seek the downward glance ,

And each kind word — affection's spell —

Eye, voice, its value can enhance ;

For eye may speak, and tongue can telL

But woman's love, it waits the while

To echo to another's tone,
To linger on another's smile

Ere dare to answer with its own.]

TWICE-TOLD TALES

He bent his head and passed through the
lowly door. As his foot sounded upon the
threshold, a young woman advanced from the
dusky interior of the house, at first hastily, and
then with a more uncertain step, till they met
face to face. There was a singular contrast in
their two figures : he dark and picturesque —
one who had battled with the world, whom all
suns had shone upon, and whom all winds had
blown on a varied course ; she neat, comely,
and quiet — quiet even in her agitation, as if
all her emotions had been subdued to the
peaceful tenor of her life. Yet their faces, all
unlike as they were, had an expression that
seemed not so alien, a glow of kindred feeling
flashing upward anew from half-extinguished
embers.

" You are welcome home ! " said Faith Egerton.

But Cranfield did not immediately answer ;
for his eye had been caught by an ornament in
the shape of a Heart which Faith wore as a
brooch upon her bosom. The material was the
ordinary white quartz ; and he recollected hav-
ing himself shaped it out of one of those Indian
arrowheads which are so often found in the an-
cient haunts of the redmen. It was precisely
on the pattern of that worn by the visionary
Maid. When Cranfield departed on his shad-
owy search, he had bestowed this brooch, in a
gold setting, as a parting gift to Faith Egerton.
342 ,

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY

" So, Faith, you have kept the Heart ! "
said he at length.

"Yes,'* said she, blushing deeply ; then more
gayly, "and what else have you brought me
from beyond the sea ? "

" Faith ! " repHed Ralph Cranfield, uttering
the fated words by an uncontrollable impulse,
" I have brought you nothing but a heavy
heart ! May 1 rest its weight on you ? "

"This token which I have worn so long,"
said Faith, laying her tremulous finger on the
Heart, "is the assurance that you may ! "

" Faith ! Faith ! " cried Cranfield, clasping
her in his arms, " you have interpreted my wild
and weary dream ! "

Yes, the wild dreamer was awake at last. To
find the mysterious treasure, he was to till the
earth around his mother's dwelling, and reap its
products ! Instead of warlike command, or
regal or religious sway, he was to rule over the
village children ! And now the visionary Maid
had faded from his fancy, and in her place he
saw the playmate of his childhood ! Would
all who cherish such wild wishes but look around
them, they would oftenest find their sphere of
duty, of prosperity, and happiness, within those
precincts and in that station where Providence
itself has cast their lot. Happy they who read
the riddle without a weary world search, or a
lifetime spent in vain !

343

Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton &» Co.
Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A.

PS Hawthorne, Nathaniel
1850 Complete writings Old

FOO Manse ed.
V.2

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